


Being Between

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-07-24 14:24:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 97,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7511716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been together for years for their sins.  They've loved one another through thick and thin, but they've potentially reached the point which will change them, and their lives, forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this plot bunny started hoping around my poor, sad little brain one night last week and resulted in this. Consider it a new WIP, tackling something I've never done before between these two particular characters or even very much with other characters. I don't play here very often in this side of the woods.
> 
> Warnings: Angst, language, infidelity / adultery, Mpreg, discussion around termination/abortion, immense amounts of vomit.

Harry let out a little sigh of relief as he settled against Ron's side, and put his head on a freckled shoulder.  
  
It was only midday but they were both exhausted. They were lying in the tangled bedlinen of the hotel room, with sunlight streaming through the open window. It was so warm that the cooling spell was failing.  
  
The last thing either of them wanted to do was get dressed and go back to the Ministry.  
  
Ron was dozing, sometimes emitting little snores and then waking himself up. Harry didn't mind – Ron always fell asleep after sex. The redhead looked angelic when he was asleep. And whilst he was still asleep, it was easy for Harry to put the Ministry out of his mind and pretend that they didn't have to go back.  
  
They _always_ had to go back though. There was never enough time together alone.  
  
Some days his entire body ached with the need to be with Ron. Sometimes it was about sex – having his body pounded and adored by the redhead. Sometimes it was about company, where Ron could lift his spirits with a single smile. Sometimes it was about having his soul soothed.  
  
Ron soothed him without even really having to try. It had been that way for several years.  
  
Harry put one hand on Ron's non-existent belly and gently tickled the copper-coloured hairs there. Ron moaned in response and blearily opened his eyes. Harry stared at him as he slid his hand further south and took him in hand.  
  
“Harry... I love you and all, but not again.” He let out a loud, yodelling yawn and groaned as his body relaxed again.  
“You said that you wanted to get a room and fuck me until I couldn't walk!” Harry protested. “I'm just following your lead.” He tried his hardest to look innocent.  
  
Laughing, Ron shook his head. “Nice try, Harry. What time is it?”  
“It's three hours ago,” Harry said confidently. “So it's 11:00, and both of our diaries are completely clear for a glorious four hours.”  
“Three hours, Harry. Three hours.”  
  
Letting out a frustrated growl, Harry threw himself down on his back and covered his face with his hands.  
  
“Why does it always go so quick?” he moaned. “It's like time just slips through our fingers. It sucks.”  
“It totally sucks,” Ron agreed sadly.  
  
They lay in silence for a while. Harry wondered whether Ron was listening to the sounds of the city beyond the hotel walls just as he was, dreading the moment when they would have to rejoin society again.  
  
“We really should start getting ready,” Ron said quietly. “I've got a meeting at two and I'm so hungry I could eat a scabby Hippogriff. Need to find some food before I eat my own arm.”  
  
Harry remained still as Ron rolled out of the bed. He watched him reach down and scratch leisurely at his balls, and then enjoyed the sight of the elongated, purring stretch which followed. Then Ron seemed to deflate a little as he looked at their robes strewn all over the floor.  
  
“I can't tell which are mine.” He pulled a face and ducked down to pick up some pants.  
“Those are mine?” Harry pointed out.  
  
A filthy little smile twisted Ron's lips as he stepped into Harry's underwear with quick, purposeful stamps of his feet. He pulled them up and let the elastic ping on his hips. He might have been taller, but they were both as thin as one another and the form-fitting jersey fabric clung to his body perfectly.  
  
And something about the fact that it was _his_ underwear had Harry sporting yet another boner on the bed.  
  
“Don't tell anyone?” Ron whispered dramatically. “My dirty little secret.”  
“Your mistress,” Harry corrected, finally deigning to rise from the bed and look for Ron's underwear to complete the swap.  
  
His throat grew dry as he pulled them up. There was something delicious about knowing that Ron's privates had been cupped in the same cloth that his were. That he had sweated into the fabric. If he lifted them to his nose, they would smell unequivocally of Ron. It thrilled him beyond all reason.  
  
“Okay, Harry, you've glazed over. Everything all right?”  
“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” He picked up his robes and chucked them over his head.  
  
He hoped he could get his expression in gear before he had to re-emerge at the neck. When he did, Ron was watching him with a bemused expression.  
  
“I think you should wear my pants more often,” Harry offered by way of explanation.  
  
He grinned to himself as he bent for his socks and sat back down on the bed to put them on. He was so clumsy and drowsy, though, that one of them pinged out of his hands and landed behind him. Ron gave a tut and got to it before Harry could.  
  
“I swear to Godric, Harry, this is like some kind of regression to childhood... you had to dress yourself when you were little because those bastards wouldn't, and now your mind is acting up and making you pretend you can't do it...”  
  
Ron got down on his knees in the front of Harry and, with gentle fingers, smoothed the sock onto Harry's foot properly. Without comment he tugged the other out of Harry's grip and put that on the other foot. Then he looked up into Harry's eyes whilst holding on to both feet.  
  
“Ron...” Harry swallowed.  
“We should get back to work.”  
“I don't want to go back to work.”  
“Neither do I. But if we're missing together for too long...”  
  
Harry nodded and sighed. “I was going to say it's like you're preparing for old age. When I can't bend down any more and you have to put my socks on for me.”  
“Well, I'm older than you, so who says you're not going to be putting my socks on first?”  
“Shit. And your feet are huge, by the time you're eighty and they're all swollen, you'll be wearing actual windsocks.”  
  
Ron's face creased with laughter as he cracked up. Eventually his chuckles petered out and he looked up almost timidly at Harry.  
  
“I have to tell you something.”  
  
Harry could just tell that whatever was going to come out of Ron's mouth, he was going to hate it.  
  
It wouldn't have been as scary if Ron himself hadn't looked so upset.  
  
“Shift,” Harry muttered, sliding off the bed to sit with his back to it.  
  
Ron fell back and crossed his legs. He was still just wearing Harry's pants. Harry reached out and curled his fingers around one of his best friend's insanely long feet and squeezed.  
  
“You can tell me anything.”  
“Even when I know it's going to hurt you?”  
“Even when.”  
  
They stared at one another.  
  
“Hermione wants to try for a baby. I've put her off, and off, and I can't find any more reasons any more. Except for the most obvious one.”  
  
Though Harry had suspected – he'd suspected for a long time – it still felt like someone had kicked him in the gut.  
  
“I'm s-sorry.” Ron's breath hitched and he buried his face in his hands. A quiet sob told Harry what he already knew.  
  
The secrecy of their relationship had shredded Ron's nerves to pieces over the years, and only the balm of actually being with Harry had glued them together.  
  
They were both technically still in the relationships they'd been in as of 2 May 1998. One of the most painful things Harry had ever experienced was watching Ron torn between his love for Hermione and his love for him.  
  
“I'm sorry!” Ron wailed. “I don't know why I'm crying. I've been so fucking emotional lately, and stressed about work.” He wiped his face with harsh fingers. “Fucking twat that I am.”  
“No.” Harry shook his head and leant forward to grasp Ron's hands. “No. You're not a twat. I know that this... it asks so much of you. It's not like it is for me. I haven't slept with Ginny in two years. We can't even be in the same room as one another for ten minutes without getting in a shouting match. I know that you love Hermione. And... that... well. That you want this.”  
“I don't know what I want, only that I'm sick and tired of being between my two best friends.”  
  
Despite attempting to be stoic, Ron broke down again and Harry's throat tightened as tears dripped off his freckled face.  
  
“What... what do you want to do?” Harry asked quietly.  
“Fuck knows. I can't stop... you. I don't want to stop you.”  
“But do you want to leave Hermione? Do you want a baby?”  
“I don't know.”  
“Ron.” Harry sighed. “We've had this conversation before. You've had your cake and eaten it a thousand times since the war ended. Godric knows we're both at fault. But this... we seriously have to take stock here.”  
“Don't you want me any more?” Ron looked up, his bloodshot eyes pathetically wide.  
  
Harry dropped his hands. “Don't be a dick, Ron.”  
  
He clambered to his feet and set about straightening his robes. He put his boots on and flattened his hair in the mirror. Ron sat behind him, desolate on the carpet. A glance at the clock said they were both already late.  
  
“Come on.” He crossed the room again and held his hand out to Ron; he pulled him up and steadied him when he wobbled.  
“I feel so sick,” Ron moaned. He reached down to rub his stomach. “I think I'm going to be sick.”  
  
Harry leapt out of the way as Ron threw himself towards the en-suite bathroom of the hotel room. He heard retching and winced.  
  
 _The usual Ron Weasley response to a stressful situation._  
  
If he was lucky, they might make it to the Ministry before Ron started shitting through the eye of a needle.  
  
He exhaled and leant against the bathroom door frame. Ron was heaving mercilessly into the toilet bowl, retching harder when the noises of his original retching made him even sicker.  
  
Holding his breath, Harry entered the room, perched on the edge of the bath, and reached down to stroke the small of Ron's back.  
  
***  
Two weeks had passed since Ron's admission in the hotel room. Harry was unsurprised that very little had changed between them. Stolen kisses, a few hours here and there where they could find them, longing looks and pressured silences.  
  
 _Nothing new, really._  
  
He was sitting eating an enormous bowl of cereal at nine in the evening. Ginny was in Holyhead, where she normally was, and he was rattling around Grimmauld like a ghost. The cat had greeted him with his usual disdain and, unusually, all of the portraits were deserted.  
  
Harry huffed around his mouthful of Frosties and slumped where he sat. He wanted company. He wanted life. Or at the very least, someone else to sit in silence with. Share his unhealthy Muggle cereal with.  
  
As usual, his mind turned to Ron. He let himself imagine what it would be like if they weren't committed to secrecy – if they were open about their relationship and lived together.  
  
It was one of his favourite fantasies.  
  
Ron would hate the cat, because he was predisposed to hate cats, but would secretly adore it. They'd have fights over whose turn it was to clean, make dinner, take the rubbish out. They'd spend their evenings listening to the Wireless and taking the piss out of the Daily Prophet. Ron would never get over the fact that Harry didn't truly support the Cannons. They'd never talk to one another on cup final day.  
  
More than anything, they'd love one another, and Harry would learn what it was to properly come home to someone who wanted him to be there. He thought it hilarious that everyone else regarded his relationship with Ginny as some sort of saviour for him – the sort of relationship he deserved after a poor start in life. To him it was just a continuation of the misery and loneliness of his childhood. If it hadn't been for Ron, he would have lost his mind.  
  
He thought of the deep shadows which had been growing under Ron's eyes over the past few weeks. He hated that he was the cause of them, but at the same time, he wasn't ready to step away from Ron.  
  
If there was one thing that he was sure of, it was that he was completely done with prostrating himself on the altar of self-sacrifice. He'd had enough. If Ron wanted to choose him he'd take him with open arms, and he wasn't going to put a stop to the only sexual and emotional pleasure he got in life.  
  
If that made him selfish, he would happily be selfish.  
  
The only part of that charade which hurt at all was Hermione. He loved her like a sister, she had been there for him at his very worst. She loved Ron with all her being.  
  
Harry wasn't sure if he loved him more. He thought so but he knew that putting a limit on love was difficult.  
  
He'd certainly never asked Ron who he loved more – him or Hermione. He'd been tempted many times but Ron had enough weight on his shoulders as it was.  
  
He shovelled in a few more mouthfuls and chomped viciously through the cereal, thinking that once he was finished the bowl he would give up and go to bed because there was nothing better to do. He remembered after the war when he had a life. They'd be out most nights, still celebrating, commiserating and getting drunk because there was no responsibility in the imminent future. It was during those nights that he had first kissed Ron, tanked up on Muggle Vodka, in the shadows of the Weasley Orchard.  
  
How it had happened from there, he didn't clearly remember.  
  
Just that it had happened, and it was the best thing he'd ever known.  
  
He dropped his spoon in the bowl and wiped his mouth. Harry yawned as he got up, actually looking forward to the prospect of an early night. Work had been insane recently thanks to the upcoming World Cup and he'd been asked to pull all sorts of hours.  
  
Plus, Ginny was due home the next day and he felt he should be well rested to deal with the ensuing drama. There was always drama.  
  
Perhaps that was why Ron was such a draw for him. He was relatively drama free.  
  
Extinguishing the candles in the kitchen, Harry jogged up to the ground floor and swung around the bannister to carry on up to his bedroom.  
  
He and Ginny had been sleeping in separate bedrooms for some time. He couldn't remember who had cracked first. It would be fine if not for the times he got to sleep with Ron. He loved having his space but never minded when Ron wanted to fill the mattress next to him.  
  
Harry shoved open the door to his room and yawned again. He bent down to unlace his boots and jumped as something buzzed hard in his pocket.  
  
“Oh, for fuck's sake,” he groused, pulling out the charmed coin from his pocket.  
  
He was on a scheduled evening off. If work were messaging him it had to be serious.  
  
If it wasn't he thought be might explode.  
  
 _'Attend St Mungo's immediately. Aurors injured, poss fatalities.'_  
  
Harry went simultaneously hot and cold. “Ron.”  
  
He had his wand in one hand and the coin clenched in the other. Without thinking about the house, or anything else, he turned into the spot and headed for the approved Auror entrance to the hospital. They'd set it up after the war to give them a safe environment in which to spontaneously appear at a run. It always caused too much of a stir with the general public and reporters had taken to posing as the injured or as relatives and used every time an Auror appeared at the hospital to write an inflammatory story in the tabloids.  
  
The room was full of bodies and noise. Harry stood on his tiptoes and looked around for Ron's red hair.  
  
“Harry!” he glanced frantically about until he could find the speaker.  
  
Kingsley was struggling through the crowd to him.  
  
“What happened?” Harry demanded.  
“Someone sent the mother of all curses to the Department. It was horrific. As soon as the letter was open the room filled with something toxic – people have scorched lungs, third degree burns. The office is sealed off by Magical Containment, and there are still wounded being treated.”  
“How many people were working?”  
“At least thirty.”  
“Shit.”  
  
Kingsley shook his head and sighed.  
  
“Kingsley-”  
  
But someone else got the Minister for Magic's attention first and he turned before Harry could ask about Ron. The thought of his beautiful face melted and burnt made Harry want to cry.  
  
He pushed his way out of the apparition point and out into the corridor where they had special rooms dedicated to the treatment of injured Ministry personnel. His stomach lurched as he saw someone lying on a bed moaning pitifully. His cries were wheezes. Harry sped up, looking in all the rooms he passed for any sight of Ron, but when he rounded the corner there was no need. Ron was standing at the other end talking quickly to a Healer. He was gesturing to a colleague on another bed in the hallway.  
  
“Ron!” Harry shouted at him, breaking into a jog.  
“Harry.” Ron's face was an awful colour.  
“You're all right.”  
  
Despite the fact that they were surrounded by colleagues and health professionals, Harry couldn't help but throw his arms around Ron and squeeze him tight.  
  
“Whoa, not so hard Harry.” Ron pushed him away, the last of the colour bleaching from his face.  
“Did you get hit by the curse?”  
“No. Was in the loo. Saved by my dodgy stomach.” Ron winced. “When I came out all hell had broken loose and the office was sealed off.”  
“You're all right,” Harry repeated.  
  
He gave Ron another squish. In hindsight it was probably a stupid move.  
  
Ron made a strange noise and then Harry found himself staggering under the dead weight of Ron's body as he collapsed.  
  
“Shit! Help! Somebody help me!”  
  
Harry sank awkwardly to the ground, his legs bent underneath him.  
He shook Ron a little but couldn't rouse him. When two Healers seized him under the arms his head lolled as they lifted him to standing.  
  
“Let's get him into triage.”  
  
Harry gratefully took the hand of the Healer Ron had been talking to when Harry had laid eyes on him.  
  
“You can go with him,” he advised, gesturing after Ron who was now floating in mid-air.  
  
Harry scurried off without further thought for the chaos behind him. Ron mattered the most. He followed the Healers for two whole corridors before they finally ushered their floating charge into a room.  
  
“In you come,” one of the Healers said to him. “Let's just shut this.”  
  
The door closed automatically when Harry cleared it.  
  
“I think seeing as he was upright and talking, safe to say he's not suffered the same damage as the others.”  
“He said he was in the loo when the curse broke free. He said he was fine.”  
“Could be shock,” one of the Healers muttered. “Wouldn't surprise me, some of the injuries are horrific.”  
“How has he been recently?” the other asked Harry. “Any illness? Taking any medication?”  
  
Harry opened his mouth to answer that Ron as fit as an ox, but remembering the past few weeks, hesitated.  
  
“He's been feeling off colour for the past few weeks. Being sick all the time, had diarrhoea... feeling dizzy and getting hot spells.”  
“His pulse is too fast. Thready.” The Healer gently laid Ron's wrist down on the bed.  
  
“Let's do some scans. Just to be on the safe side. It could just be a virus of some kind, or pure exhaustion. Maybe he just needs a rest and plenty of fluids.”  
  
Harry nodded nervously and retreated to the far wall, where he sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair and proceeded to watch the Healers cast a number of diagnostic spells over Ron's body. He zoned out of their conversation, instead choosing to look at Ron's slackened expression and his hand dangling off the edge of the bed.  
  
The next thing he knew was the sound of the door slamming behind one of the Healers. He jumped and looked to the other for an explanation.  
  
“Uh... I don't think...”  
“What's going on?” Harry stood up.  
“Please, Mr Potter, just sit down and my colleague will be back in a moment. In fact, I'll just see where he's got to.”  
  
He hurried out, looking distinctly ruffled, and Harry looked from Ron to the closed door in bewilderment. With a sigh he stepped up to the head of the bed and picked up Ron's dangling hand. As they were alone he lifted it to his lips and kissed it. Ron stayed still but Harry was relieved to see the rise and fall of his chest.  
  
They were alone for so long that Harry was seriously considering going hunting for the Healers, but suddenly there were voices outside the door. When it opened, a new Healer walked in followed by the original two that had tested Ron.  
  
“Mr Potter, isn't it?” The new Healer reached out to shake his hand, which Harry did.  
  
He realised then that he was still hand-in-hand with Ron. He gently laid it down on the mattress.  
  
“I just need to run a few more tests.”  
“More? What's so wrong that you need to test so much?” Harry frowned.  
“Please, Mr Potter, just let me work.”  
  
Chastened, Harry did as he was told.  
  
“No. This is impossible.”  
“That's what we said,” another Healer chimed in.  
“It can't be.”  
“We said that too.”  
  
They carried on in that vein for a while and Harry grew impatient. “What's impossible?”  
  
They all looked at him as if they'd forgotten he was there.  
  
“Mr Potter, your friend...”  
“Is he badly hurt? Tell me.”  
“He's pregnant.”  
  
Harry blinked once. “I'm sorry, but what?” He looked at them in dismay. “Have you lost your minds?”  
“I'm not sure,” the older Healer said, frowning down at Ron's body.  
“You do realise what you're saying?” Harry could feel something rising in his blood – he thought it might be hysteria.  
  
Even with the physical impossibilities of what the Healers were telling him, if Ron was pregnant, there was only one person who could have made him so.  
  
 _Me._  
  
He rarely fucked Ron. Ron preferred to be on top and Harry was happy to let him be. Every now and then, though, when Ron was particularly frazzled or low in mood, he liked it. He liked letting Harry take care of things, and Harry liked doing it.  
  
“You can't tell _anyone_ ,” Harry breathed. “You can't. Oh my god. _Oh my fucking god._ ”  
  
He expected one of them to perhaps tell him to calm down. All three Healers stood there and stared at him gormlessly, however, and Harry put his fingers in his hair and tugged on it.  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
Eventually the oldest Healer recovered his sensibilities. “Do you have any idea how this might have happened?”  
  
Harry stared at him incredulously.  
  
“Other than having sex,” the man said sarcastically. “Male pregnancy is only be possible through means of very specific potions and curses. All are forbidden by law in this country.”  
  
Something made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up. He didn't like the way the Healer was looking at him.  
  
“Can you think where Mr Weasley could have come into contact with such curses or the potions?”  
“R-raid.”  
  
Ron's contribution made Harry jump and he looked down to find the redhead blinking up at him. He looked horrified.  
  
“Did you hear-”  
“I heard, Harry. Help me.”  
  
Harry had no choice but to aid Ron as he attempted to sit up. When Ron retched one of the Healers shoved a paper bowl in Harry's hands and he stood there and caught the vomit in it.  
  
“Here, we'll need that for analysis.”  
  
Harry handed it back, feeling distinctly nauseous himself.  
  
“What were you saying, Mr Weasley?”  
“The raid. On the Harringey case.”  
  
Harry sucked in a massive breath and then let it out, along with a little whine of devastation.  
  
“Someone was plugging the black market with illegal potions. It took us a year to catch him. When we finally closed in, we had to go right into his lab. Vials and cauldrons everywhere. Curses flying everywhere. Ron got a bottle to the face. He got some of it in his mouth and his nose. There was no immediate damage, you guys yourselves tested him after the incident and just advised to proceed carefully... but...”  
“You never in your wildest dreams would have thought of this.”  
  
The Healer sighed and noted something down on his clipboard.  
  
“Harry, what are we going to do?” Ron whispered. He sounded hollow. “What are we going to do?”  
“I don't know.” Harry raised his hands up in desperation. “Oh fuck, I don't know what to do, Ron.”  
  
They stared at one another.  
  
“Everyone should just stay calm in the first instance.” The Healer lowered his clipboard and moved closer to the bed. “Would I be right in assuming that you... you are the father?”  
  
Harry was torn between bursting into fits of laughter and gut-wrenching sobs. He'd not thought to ever hear that question. He certainly never expected to have any children with Ginny.  
  
“How can this even work? Biology. It's fucking human biology. Men can't carry children. They can't give birth to them. The fuck is going on?!”  
“Whatever potion he's ingested, it has caused significant change to the inside of his body.”  
“What next? Is he going to grow a pair of tits and lose his balls?!”  
  
“Harry.” Ron's voice was oddly calm. “You're reaching that level at which only animals can hear you now. Please. Just sit down?”  
“How are you so fucking calm?”  
“I'm not!” Ron cried. “But shouting at these guys isn't going to help.”  
“That's rich, coming from you, you hate Healers!” Harry tossed back impetuously.  
  
Ron fixed him with a glare and Harry fell silent. With deep inhalation of breath, Ron turned back to the Healer.  
  
“I want this gone. Stopped. I don't want to be pregnant, I don't want a baby and I definitely don't want to have to tell the world that it's Harry's.”  
  
That stung. Harry hoped his face didn't show his devastation too openly.  
  
The Healers exchanged looks.  
  
“We would recommend taking some time to process this information.”  
“I don't _have_ time. I have a wife and a family and a job and none of those people know anything about my relationship with Harry.”  
“Still, we would not help you terminate such a rare pregnancy.”  
“Rare? That's a bit of an understatement.” Harry scoffed.  
“You mean I'm stuck like this?” Ron whispered.  
  
Pity filled the room even though nobody spoke a word.  
  
“Just take some time to think about it.”  
“Didn't you hear him? He doesn't have time.” Harry shook his head. “This will rip everything apart. Everything.”  
“I don't know what you want me to tell you.” The Healer shrugged. “It's not the fault of the child growing in his belly that you two have seen fit to indulge in infidelity behind the backs of your wives.”  
“I'm not married,” Harry said forcefully.  
“But he is,” was the pointed answer.  
“We don't have to explain ourselves to you.”  
“No, but sooner rather than later you're going to have a lot explaining to do to everyone else, so perhaps you should get used to the fact.”  
  
“Please, stop,” Ron begged abruptly. “Harry. Stop goading the only people who can help me here. And you...” he stared at the Healer. “I thought when you put those robes on you were supposed to leave prejudice and personal opinion at the door? You took an oath. Yeah, I know about that. Thought about being a Healer for a while.”  
“You thought about being a Healer?” Harry asked in dismay.  
  
“Yeah. When I was eighteen. For about a minute.”  
“I didn't know that.”  
  
Harry didn't know why, but it felt like a betrayal. He always assumed that he and Ron had shared everything together. Every small dream, every desire. He, at least, had shared everything like that with Ron.  
  
They were staring at one another again. One of the Healers coughed. Harry was suddenly very hot.  
  
“Have you informed my wife yet?” Ron asked. “I mean, as my Next of Kin. Been in here enough times to know you have to do that.”  
“No, not yet. Your admission wasn't exactly routine.”  
“Then if you can do one thing for me tonight, can you just not bother? We... we have a lot of talking to do.”  
“I think under the circumstances, we can put off procedure for a few hours.”  
“Why would you need to anyway? He's awake, he can come home with me and I'll make sure he rests.”  
“Mr Potter, there is an increased risk to Mr Weasley's life and given his collapse and your reports of the state of his health over the past few weeks, we'll be keeping him in for observation overnight. At the very least he needs a good rest and to be properly hydrated.”  
  
Harry turned away, his emotion finally starting to get the better of him.  
  
“We'll be back to check on you in a little bit.”  
  
He held his breath until all three Healers had left the room and closed the door behind them. He sniffed hard and reached up to rub his eyes.  
  
When he turned around Ron had his face in his hands again. Harry hated that he'd seen him like that twice in as many weeks.  
  
“Oh, Ron...” He perched on the edge of the bed.  
  
There was no warning but Ron gave a massive retch and was sick all over his own lap and Harry's left leg. Somewhat stunned, Harry sat with his mouth open and revulsion crept through him. In all of Ron's more spectacular vomiting sessions, none of them had ever landed on him.  
  
“I'm sorry.” Ron was panting. “I'm sorry.”  
“It's just puke.” Harry tried to keep his voice free of horror. “Here.”  
  
Using his wand he vanished the evidence and cleaned their clothes.  
  
“Open up,” he instructed, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out some chewing gum. He popped it into Ron's mouth. “Chew.”  
“Not sure this is a clever idea, 'Arry.” Ron's jaw started to work. “Though... no, think it's safe.”  
  
Harry gave him an encouraging nod of the head and slumped where he sat.  
  
“What the fuck, Ron?” He said when he couldn't keep it in any more.  
“I... I have no words, Harry. Nothing. I've got _nothing._ ”  
“Not even 'oh fuck'?”  
  
Ron gave a smile and then grimaced, one hand going to his stomach.  
  
“Chewing gum a mistake?”  
“Better than the taste of puke.”  
“Fair play.”  
  
Ron took a few deep breaths and Harry could tell he was fighting the nausea.  
  
“If you need to chuck up, just chuck up. Better out than in.”  
“Funny, since I experienced chundering slugs as a twelve-year-old, I've had a tiny thing called emetophobia.”  
“That's a big word.”  
“It is. Git.”  
“What is it?”  
“The fear of being sick.”  
“You can be afraid of being sick?!”  
  
Ron nodded weakly. “I figured after about the tenth anxiety attack something wasn't right. So I looked it up.”  
“How very Hermione of you,” Harry replied, without thinking.  
  
At the mention of her name, the scant colour which had come back to Ron's pallor drained out again.  
  
“What are we going to do?” Ron croaked. “Oh my God, Harry. What are we going to do?”  
“I don't know, but you getting upset isn't good for you, or the baby, so-”  
“Stop it!”  
“Stop what?”  
“Don't call it a baby. It's not a baby. It's nothing.”  
“Ron, it's hardly nothing!”  
“I've got to get this out of me, Harry. You have to help me.”  
“You want to... you want to get rid of it?”  
  
Harry had been through many different emotions that evening. He didn't exactly know what he was feeling. But it was easy to recognise the repugnance coursing through him as he saw that Ron absolutely meant what he was saying.  
  
“Ron.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “This is...”  
“You can't seriously be considering that this is a good thing? That we can have this baby and life will carry on as it was?”  
“No, I'm not an idiot,” Harry muttered, going red. “Everything will change but... but I can't help but think that maybe it's time that things _stopped_ carrying on. I am seriously in love with you, and I like to hope that you feel the same way about me. You were in pieces because Hermione wanted to have a baby with you, choosing between us all the time... but this...”  
“What, the fact that I have your child growing in my non-existent, magically synthesised womb forces my hand?” Ron cried.  
  
“Well, yeah!” Harry jumped up and held his hands out. “It does, sort of.”  
“Not if we get rid of it before anyone else finds out.”  
“What if I don't want you to get rid of it?”  
  
Ron swayed slightly. Harry could see that he was sweating. He rounded the bed and pulled another paper bowl from the trolley by the door. He put it in Ron's hands and tenderly touched his hair. Ron clutched the bowl like it was his lifeline.  
  
“You have no idea how horrible this feels,” he whispered.  
  
Harry had to hand that to him; he didn't.  
  
“What are we going to do?”  
  
Harry had to admit he didn't know about that, either.  
  
 _ **To be continued...**_


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ron continually meets brick walls and feels as though they're forming an ever-closer cage around him. He's suffocating, and Harry's not listening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, language, infidelity / adultery, Mpreg, frank discussion around termination/abortion, immense amounts of vomit, dialogue heavy chapter.

**Ron**  
  
“You don't have to carry it for nine fucking months!”  
  
The words came out so loud that they hurt Ron's throat. He reached up and massaged it with his fingers for all the good it did.  
  
He was sick of everything. Sick of shouting, sick of being sick, sick of feeling like death warmed up, sick of being at odds with Harry.  
  
 _And sick of living a lie and it's only been three fucking days._  
  
He'd eventually managed to bargain with the hospital to release him at four in the morning following the attack on the Ministry. He'd gone home, Hermione had been asleep – she was long used to him coming home in the small hours thanks to his job, and he didn't pretend it was anything else which had kept him out of their bed.  
  
Of course, when his stomach had acted as an alarm clock a mere two hours later, and he was throwing up in the en-suite, he was a lot less prepared with a lie. She had woken, followed him in and sat by his side, stroking the small of his back.  
  
Then he'd thought about Harry doing exactly the same thing and prolonged his time on his knees by another ten minutes.  
  
Everything had simply gone to shit.  
  
He was sitting in the kitchen at Grimmauld, shattered beyond belief, whilst he and Harry tore strips off one another verbally. They'd been at it for what felt like hours, but they'd only finished work at six and the clock said eight.  
  
“Must have stopped.”  
“What must have stopped?” Harry paused with a glass of water halfway to his mouth.  
“That clock.” Ron straightened from his slumped position and winced at the ache in his back. “Must have stopped. We've been having this fight for longer than two hours.”  
“We've been having this fight for three days,” Harry pointed out.  
  
He finally sat down opposite Ron with a grunt. Work had been manic ever since the attack.  
  
Harry reached out and took one of Ron's hands. They held onto each other's fingers across the wood.  
  
It was a constant pattern. Collapse together. Fight. Hold hands. Maybe kiss. Then fight again.  
  
“I feel like I could sleep for a week.”  
“You look really rough.”  
“Thanks, Harry. I can always count on you for a nice kick up the arse.”  
  
Harry smiled at him sadly.  
  
“I know you don't want this.”  
“What gave you that idea?” Ron deadpanned.  
“Funny. You're funny.” Harry shook his head. “But please, Ron. Please. I'm begging you. Just... take some time. Consider it. What we could have.”  
“But we can't have anything without everything being ruined.”  
  
Harry fell forward and put his forehead on the table. Ron stared at his unruly hair and wanted to stroke his fingers through it.  
  
“I want it ruined.” Harry's words were muffled but clear enough. “I want you. I want to stop living in this house on my own. And if you have to be pregnant for that to happen then I'll have the baby too. I can't help it. I'm so done with pretending with your sister, who hates me, can't even look at me without spewing bile at me. We don't love each other, we haven't since 1998. It was the sort of love that would never survive what happened. Maybe it was even born _because_ of what happened. But there's only one person who brings me any sort of joy or love... and that's you, Ron.”  
  
Harry's declarations of love had come thick and fast since they'd left the hospital. Ron couldn't help the way his chest seemed to swell when he heard them, but he also couldn't deny that they were significantly contributing to his nausea.  
  
Even just thinking about feeling sick made him want to be sick. He had quickly developed a very large respect for the millions of women all over the world who were struggling through their pregnancies.  
  
 _And you could be the only man on the planet right now joining them._  
  
Ron had never enjoyed the weight of great responsibility. There was a reason he was the Best Friend, the choice of his position in the Auror Department which was undoubtedly important but not the _most_ important. He'd thought a lot about his many teenage complexes – it was laughable that at seventeen he had longed to be special, longed to be in the limelight, and ten years later he was desperately hoping for something, anything to prevent him becoming supremely special.  
  
 _Not 'becoming'. You're already fucking pregnant._  
  
Ron groaned and, mirroring Harry, put his forehead down on the kitchen table.  
  
They sat in pleasant silence until the sound of the front door slamming two levels above made them both jump.  
  
“Harry? Where are you?!”  
  
Ginny's angry shout filtered down and they both flew upright, staring at each other with panicked eyes.  
  
“You said she'd gone back to fucking Wales!” Ron hissed.  
“She had?!” Harry stared at him with wide eyes. “Something must have happened.”  
  
Footsteps were stomping nearer and Ron realised before Harry that they were will holding hands. He hated the torture in Harry's expression as Ginny neared on the realisation that they would have to let go. Ron swallowed but found he couldn't force his fingers to unlock from Harry's grip.  
  
“There you are.”  
  
Harry released Ron's hand just as she appeared at the top of the steps. Ron saw the stiffness in his best friend's body as he turned away and climbed off the bench to greet his girlfriend.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
Ron looked up. Ginny's arm was in a sling and she had a face like thunder.  
  
“I don't want to talk about it.”  
“Looks like we should talk about it,” Harry pointed out.  
  
He had to hand it to him, Ron thought – he would have been legging it in the opposite direction if Ginny had glared at him in the way she was currently glaring at Harry.  
  
“I lost my grip and managed to fall a hundred and fifty feet. It's all fixed but they're so _fucking_ anal about injury they sent me home and told me not to come back for a week. Can you believe that? Right before the start of the season as well. I'm fuming.”  
“Hadn't noticed.”  
  
Ron winced, but knew this was what had become of his sister's relationship with Harry. Constant sniping, bitterness and incredible, all-consuming unhappiness. At least he loved Hermione and still found comfort in her presence. Their home was a safe haven and he wanted to spend time with her.  
  
He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Harry and Ginny interact without a shouting match.  
  
“What're you both doing here in the middle of the day? Don't you have jobs?”  
  
Ron realised he should have been waiting for the venom to be poured in his direction. Ginny seemed to take his excellent friendship with Harry as a personal insult. He assumed it was because of her abysmal relationship with Harry – and that made him never want to ever have to tell her that they were more than friends.  
  
“Godric, Ron, you look like shit.” Ginny stared at him, shock reflected in her face. “What's the matter with you?”  
  
She rounded the table and put the hand which wasn't in a sling on his forehead.  
  
“If you're sick you can sod off.” Brief moment of care gone, she stepped away from him. “I don't want whatever you've got.”  
  
Her choice of words couldn't have been worse. Propelled to his feet by another wave of sickness, Ron sniffed and checked he had his wand.  
  
“You're going?” Harry asked, clearly disappointed.  
“Yeah. Get out from under your hair.” He made his way to the stairs up to the hallway. “See you at work tomorrow?”  
“Yeah.” Harry was frowning at him.  
  
Ron was too tired to try and put anything into a meaningful look in response. He gave the pair a half-hearted wave and then started climbing up through the house. He didn't know where he was going, but knew he had to be anywhere but Grimmauld Place. He finally let out a sigh of relief as the front door came into view.  
  
“Oi, slow down.”  
  
Ron looked over his shoulder and saw Harry sprinting towards him along the hall. He put one hand on the door handle.  
  
“Wait.”  
  
Harry slid to a stop in front of him, his chest heaving with the effort of running.  
  
“I just wanted to...” He stepped close and kissed Ron on the lips. “I just wanted to give you that.”  
“Well, thanks.” Ron managed a tiny grin for him.  
“Stay safe?” Harry implored. “Because you mean the world to me. You did before the...”  
  
Harry gestured loosely at his stomach. Ron nodded. Emotion was building in his chest and he knew he had to get out of the house quickly before he lost control.  
  
“See you soon,” he said bracingly, and pulled the door open.  
  
***  
  
“You can't go to work like this, Ron.” Hermione sighed and dragged her fingers back through her hair. “And I don't think I should leave you.”  
“I'm f-fine.” Ron lifted his head out of the bowl and burped a little.  
“I'm really starting to worry this is something serious, Ron. You've been like this for a week.”  
  
Ron was surprised that he'd managed to hide the sickness from Hermione for as long as he had.  
  
“I promise, if it stays bad I'll go to the Healers tomorrow.”  
“I think you should.”  
  
Hermione stroked his hair gently and sighed. Out of the corner of his eye Ron saw her check her watch.  
  
“You should go.” Numbness started to creep through his body. “You've got that meeting. I don't want you to be late because of me.”  
  
Finally he sat back and looked up at his wife. She looked so worried.  
  
“I'm fine,” Ron promised. “Or I will be. Just need a kip is all. Go.”  
  
Hermione shot him a final worried look before standing up and smoothing down her robes.  
  
“Message me if you need me. Or it gets worse. I'll come straight home. If you think you can keep it down there's leftover lasagne in the fridge and plenty of bread for toast.”  
  
Smiling weakly at her, Ron nodded and used the sink to heave himself up.  
  
“I'd kiss you goodbye, but that's not going to be nice...” He pulled a face and shrugged.  
“Yeah I'll pass.” Hermione grinned.  
  
She headed off down to the lower half of the house and Ron drifted back into the bedroom. He laid down with gentle movements, hoping not to set off the nausea again. He was so over it. He put his hands on his stomach and left them there.  
  
All he could think about – between the necessity of finding the nearest toilet or bowl to throw up in – was the child growing in his body. The hospital had explained it to him, how the potion had caused his innards to mutate and form a replica of a female womb. It was defunct in that it wasn't attached to a birthing canal, and he would never have to push it out. Later in the pregnancy he could experience extreme discomfort as the baby lowered and his pelvis could refuse to open as widely or well as a woman's would.  
  
He thought that as a stupid thing to say given he already felt like he was in 'extreme discomfort' as it was, and the pregnancy wasn't too far developed.  
  
“Fuck.” He took his hands off his belly and put them on his face instead.  
  
He had plans for his day of sick leave. He was going to the Hospital for an appointment with the maternity department. All he could do, in his mind, was try to convince them to help him terminate the pregnancy legally. He'd already thought of a thousand ways to do it illegally, and alone, but he knew the risk to his own life in taking that route.  
  
And explaining that to Hermione would be even worse than explaining to her that he was in love with Harry and carrying his baby.  
  
 _His fucking child._  
  
Ron had wanted children all his life. To be a father. To raise happy little babies who would have none of his insecurities, whom he would cherish so that they could be whatever they wanted to be no matter who or what had come first. It wouldn't be a big family – he'd been there and done that and he didn't want his kids to compete like he had competed for everything.  
  
He'd had those thoughts ever since he was roughly eight years old. Now that he stood to have a child, and a family, however, all of those thoughts and wishes had completely gone. He couldn't see anything good in the situation.  
  
He felt like he had a parasite on board. He hated thinking of how his body would change, and the unnaturalness of it all. It was all so wrong.  
  
He exhaled hard.  
  
The only good thing which could happen would be that the whole situation went away.  
  
***  
  
“Thanks for seeing me,” Ron said awkwardly, looking around the office of the Maternity Unit manager, the man who had seen him on the night he collapsed. “I appreciate it's short notice.”  
“It doesn't matter. I want you to know that given your... your circumstances, this department will be on hand to provide you with any support or help you need over the coming months.”  
  
Ron nodded and looked down at his knees. “Will you help me stop this from ever happening?”  
  
There was a sigh from the other side of the desk and the Healer dropped the expensive feather quill he was holding.  
  
“I had hoped you'd had some time to think on it.”  
“I've had time, but I didn't need it.”  
“It's been a week, which isn't really ample time to consider-”  
“There's nothing to consider,” Ron said calmly. “I don't want this child. I don't want to have a baby. Men can't – _shouldn't_ – have babies.”  
“But you are having one,” the Healer said levelly. “And though the means through which the pregnancy came about aren't in anyway ideal, this could be something marvellous Ron. Do you know how many men, worldwide, watch their wives and partners carry their children and feel an immense amount disconnect from the process because they're not the one keeping their baby alive?”  
“And I get that, but I don't want to keep this baby alive because it's just... wrong.”  
  
The Healer stared at him for a moment before leaning back in his chair.  
  
“I didn't think it'd be possible for you to look worse than you did when we admitted you, but you're practically emaciated sitting there.”  
“It's not _that_ bad.”  
“Your skin is grey. Grey, Mr Weasley.”  
“Some people pull that off.”  
“Unfortunately you are not one of them. How's the nausea?”  
“Horrible,” Ron muttered.  
“And the exhaustion?”  
“Just as bad.”  
  
There was another sigh. “I wish I could tell you it's going to get better. For most women, once they get through the first trimester, things abate a little. But from the very limited resources we have on male pregnancies... this is not going to be pleasant.”  
“I figured.”  
“It's more than you know. In female pregnancy we see issues with teeth, hair falling out or thinning or completely changing, bone density... male pregnancies have a high fatality rate on top.”  
  
Ron couldn't hold the chuckle which came into his mouth. “You're really not doing anything to convince me here, mate.”  
“I know. I suppose I'm saying it because I can see in your face that you won't be convinced no matter what I say.”  
“Well, at least we agree on one thing, I guess.”  
“I supposed I might as well be honest. I tried to keep a lid on it the other night, Potter looked like he might pass out.”  
  
Licking his lips, Ron waited for the wizard to go on.  
  
“And I might as well be honest – I will not help you terminate this pregnancy. You won't find a medical practitioner in this country who would. And the Muggles...”  
“Would lose their shit if I turned up in a hospital pregnant.”  
“And you'd be breaking the Statute, and risk imprisonment.”  
“Great, a baby born in jail.”  
“Yes.”  
“So you're telling me there is really nothing, absolutely fuck all that can be done to stop this?”  
  
The Healer nodded, his expression tight. Ron knew what was being left unsaid.  
  
“If I-”  
“Stop. You speak another word and I would have to raise my concerns.”  
“About what? I'm not mentally unstable, you couldn't touch me.”  
“I know, but-”  
“And abortion isn't illegal.”  
“I know, but-”  
“And you've just sat there and reeled off all the reasons that this pregnancy is going to be hell on earth. You said it could even be fatal. So where does your loyalty to the thing growing in my belly stand against your Hippocratic oath to protect and do the best for your patients?”  
“Well if your health was seriously suffering we'd have another conversation.”  
“I'm _asking_ for that conversation now.”  
“We're having it, you just don't like the answer.”  
  
Ron laughed and shook his head. “No. You haven't given me one logical, factual answer as to why I can't have an abortion. Is it against the law?”  
“No,” the Healer replied wearily.  
“Is it dangerous to me to have the abortion?”  
“Yes. Without the completion of the pregnancy through to the natural end, we have no guarantee that your reproductive organs would ever return to normal.”  
  
That stumped Ron a little. “Explain.”  
  
“Well... the potion you ingested has caused your body to likely grow a womb out of thin air. It will have tricked your body into believing it is female. We have no research, no scientific fact on the lasting effect on your organs but we do have some proof of damage to fertility.”  
“You mean...?”  
“One of the most highly documented side-effects to these potions are that the drinkers were rarely able to reproduce after giving birth.”  
“Is that because of the potion or because they'd all snuffed it during the pregnancy?”  
  
The Healer sighed exasperatedly and picked his Quill up again.  
  
“Ron. This is not easy. I can tell you're unhappy.”  
“Damn right I'm unhappy – the only reason you won't put my life back to rights because you're too smitten with the fact that this baby would be special, that it's out of the ordinary. You don't care about me at all, do you?”  
  
Even though his words came out fast, Ron managed to keep his tone level and his mind calm. There was something spreading through him – a sort of steely realisation.  
  
“I do care about you very much, Mr Weasley. I've never, in the whole of my career, had the privilege of looking after anyone in your situation. I'll admit that. I'm in awe. I checked the hospital records and the last time a case like this was seen was in 1932.”  
“Am I meant to be impressed? Moved?”  
“No. I'm just telling you that-”  
“I know what you're telling me.” Ron got to his feet.  
“We're not finished.”  
“I asked for this appointment, I say we're done.”  
“Just sit down for a moment, will you?”  
  
Ron didn't want to, but something in the Healer's voice made him do it.  
  
“This is life changing. And I think given what I saw between yourself and Potter the other night, it would be in more than one way.”  
“It could be.”  
“Please remember that you aren't the only person in this equation.”  
“Oh, god, please shut up about the damned baby-”  
“I'm not talking about the baby, I'm talking about Harry.”  
  
Shifting uncomfortably in his plastic seat, Ron had to concede that Harry was a sticking point in his termination plan.  
  
“His feelings for you were very clear. And his feelings for the child you've made together are probably clear too.”  
“They are.” Ron sighed. “But I can't see how it's ever going to work. My wife... his girlfriend is my sister...” He held his hands up. “How? How is it ever going to work?”  
“You'll find that babies have a way of pulling people together...”  
“Not this one.” Ron pointed to his stomach. “This, this will tear worlds apart and screw everything up, least of all me.”  
  
The wizard started jotting on some parchment. “Have you ever thought of seeing a therapist, Ron?”  
“No. I'm fine.”  
“Are you though?”  
“Yes.”  
“Well, forgive me, but conducting a secret relationship with your best friend behind the back of your wife and your own sister seems a little repressed to me.”  
  
“I'm not repressed, I'm just... stuck.”  
“You're not stuck. You could have solved this issue years ago. You didn't.”  
“It's not that easy.”  
“Isn't it?”  
“No! Not when you're us! The whole world is watching us and they have ever since we were about fifteen. Do you have any idea what that's like?”  
  
“No. But you're not doing anything to convince me that you wouldn't benefit from some time with one of our counsellors.”  
“All I need from you is something to stop me from throwing up all the time,” Ron retorted stubbornly.  
“Sure. I can give you a strong anti-emetic. Is the morning sickness bad?”  
“ _Morning_ sickness is a fucking lie,” Ron muttered. “It's non-stop.”  
  
“It is rather a myth. Here.” The man pulled a prescription pad towards him and scrawled on it. “I want to see you fortnightly. You can do great damage to the oesophagus by vomiting continuously and believe me, you don't need anything else to hurt.”  
“Is there really much more that can hurt?” Ron breathed. “It all hurts.”  
“I once saw a woman who tore a muscle in her face from being so sick during her pregnancy.”  
“Are you fucking kidding me?”  
“She was particularly unwell.”  
  
Ron leant forward and took the prescription.  
  
“Get this from the apothecary on the fourth floor. And these are the details of a Healer in psychiatry who I think would be really good for you.”  
  
Taking it to make the man happy, Ron stood back up. His stomach churned and he only just made it to the waste paper basket by the door before he was retching. It was particularly hot in his throat and burned. The idea of oesophagus damage floated through his mind and he winced.  
  
“Sorry,” he croaked, gingerly holding the bin away from him. The smell was enough to set him off again.  
“I deal in babies and pregnant women all day long, Ron, do you really think you're the first person to vomit somewhere in my office? I'm just grateful it wasn't on my robes or in my hair.”  
  
Nodding, Ron wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.  
  
“And this...” The Healer pushed a file over the table to him. “This is a copy of all the literature our archive holds on male pregnancy. Not for the faint-hearted and definitely not sugar coated in any way, but I thought it might help. When the time comes to telling people, there are some things they can read... about the way you'll change, the pregnancy, the baby itself, how it's born and so on.”  
“That's... thanks.”  
“Look after yourself, Ron.”  
  
He slipped the information into his bag and kept the prescription in hand.  
  
“I don't want to have you on a bed excavating a dead baby out of your guts, Ron.”  
“Wow, that's blunt.”  
  
The Healer shrugged.  
  
Ron left the office feeling exhausted and disappointed that his visit had achieved nothing.  
  
 _Not nothing. At least this'll stop you puking your guts up at every opportunity. That's something._  
  
***  
  
“Ron, where are you?” Hermione yelled.  
  
Jumping, Ron stuffed the literature at the back of the wardrobe along with the little black pouch. He hid them under a pile of old jumpers he never touched and slammed the doors shut.  
  
“Bedroom,” he shouted back.  
  
He wiped damp palms on his jeans and threw himself on the bed to give the impression that he'd been resting.  
  
“Hey. There you are. Wow, you look much better Ron.”  
“I feel much better.”  
“Good.” Hermione smiled at him and bent over to kiss him on the forehead.  
“How was work?” Ron asked, crossing his legs at the ankle and stuffing a pillow behind his back.  
“Oh... stupid. I don't think people understand what the law actually is. That it applies to them. God, what a ridiculous idea! The laws of our society! They apply to everyone! Who knew?” Hermione was gesticulating wildly and Ron couldn't help but smile as he watched her, pacing back and forth as she started to unbutton her robes.  
  
He could tell she'd had a bad day by the size of her hair, which was nearing double its usual amount of volume and frizz. Soon she was striding up and down in front of the bed wearing just her bra, knickers and opaque tights.  
  
“Just, the sheer stupidity. You know?!”  
  
She finally stopped, looking at him.  
  
“Stop it.”  
“Stop what?”  
“Looking at me like that!”  
“Like what?” Ron grinned.  
  
Hermione shook her head and laughed as she crawled onto the bed and up over his legs. They were kissing then, soft, lazy kisses that they'd shared thousands of times before. Ron put his hands up and squeezed her breasts through her bra; she was wearing the smooth satin one that he loved.  
  
“You really must be feeling better,” she breathed.  
“Well, about time. C'mere.”  
  
Ron scooped her properly up against his body and pressed his hips up so she couldn't miss what reaction she'd caused.  
  
It was always the same. Just as hard for both of them, Hermione and Harry alike. When either one of them touched him his body seemed to tingle with pleasure.  
  
He loved them both.  
  
-  
  
Ron held his breath as he laid on his back.  
  
 _Has it already started?_  
  
It had been mortifying to have to pull out of his wife and see that his cock was completely dry – lacking even the usual moisture which tended to dribble out before he came. And he had certainly known he wouldn't be doing that. There was no urge, no push towards a finish.  
  
 _I'm broken._  
  
“Hey.” Hermione's whisper was kind in tone. “It's okay, Ron.”  
“That's never happened before.” He heard how strangled his own voice sounded. “I've never...”  
“It's okay.”  
  
Ron was horrified to feel emotion burning his throat and tears in his eyes.  
  
 _You can't fall apart. You can't._  
  
“You've not been well. Maybe it's just that.” She kissed his cheek. “It's nothing.”  
  
Gentle fingers stroked down his chest and landed on his stomach.  
  
Immediately, Ron felt a kind of sick which the potions wouldn't touch – he felt sick to his very core. He had to pick up her hand and pull it to his chest again, covering her fingers with his own to keep them from drifting down again. It felt so utterly wrong to have her touch him there. She had no idea what she was touching.  
  
Ron suddenly found himself with everything on the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill out and be done with the secrecy.  
  
He fought it, taking several shallow breaths.  
  
“Don't get upset,” Hermione begged. “I promise. It happens to lots of men and it's not a big thing. We'll go downstairs, cook dinner, open some wine and forget it.”  
  
He wondered how he'd get out of having a glass of wine.  
  
 _Why do you care? You don't want it. Get shitfaced. Might help things along._  
  
His fingers twitched involuntarily. Hermione made a noise of pain as he squashed hers.  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
She kissed him in response. “Love you, Ron.”  
“I love you too, 'Mione.”  
  
***  
  
“You've got to keep your voice down,” Harry muttered.  
  
Ron was moaning out of frustration more than anything. They were locked in an unused office which smelt bizarrely of celery; he was against the wall, Harry's hand was stuffed down his pants.  
  
“I'm sorry, I just...” Ron tipped his head back and whimpered. “I just want to come. So badly.”  
  
And he did. He'd hoped that with Harry it would be easier, but he was fighting to even maintain his erection.  
  
“Oh, just fuck it, Harry. Stop.” He held his hands up. “Enough.”  
  
Harry looked at him uncertainly and then pulled his hand free to put it on Ron's chest.  
  
“That's not like you.”  
“I know.” Ron felt himself blush. “It happened the other night too. With Hermione. And I thought it might just be her but... it's you as well.”  
  
He pushed past Harry to throw himself into a dusty chair.  
  
“They said it could cause infertility.”  
“What could?”  
“The pregnancy. They said that I might never be able to reproduce again, even more so if I don't see it through to birth. And now I can't get it up and keep it up and nothing's coming out and it's just...” He gestured disappointedly to his crotch. “Fucked.”  
  
Harry leant against the equally abandoned desk and reached up to rub the back of his neck.  
  
“When did they tell you that, Ron?”  
“Erm. When I went to the hospital for an appointment?”  
“What appointment?”  
“I went to talk to them.”  
“When?”  
  
Harry looked hurt.  
  
“I just... I wanted to talk some things through. On my own.”  
“What things?”  
  
Ron looked up at him and exhaled hard, puffing out his cheeks to delay the moment that he had to admit to Harry that'd been to beg for an abortion.  
  
“My chances,” he said finally.  
“Of what?”  
“You know what.”  
“Did they agree?”  
“No.”  
“I'm glad.”  
  
Harry hopped back onto the desk and let his legs swing slightly.  
  
“I'm not,” Ron admitted. “I just wanted it over.”  
“Do you really hate this so much? Is it really so bad, the thought of having my baby?”  
“Listen to yourself.” He couldn't help but laugh. “You're asking a twenty-seven-year-old man if he feels okay with carrying a _baby_. I don't have even the faintest trace of a snatch, Harry. This baby is going to get removed in a way as unnatural as its conception was. I grew a womb. I'm likely to be left with at least one major condition if I go through with this. I could die. I could die, Harry. Do you think this is worth that?”  
“If we were careful, if we got you the best care-”  
“And how will we get that when we're too busy hiding the fact? What about when I get so big I can't hide it? Oh, god!”  
  
Ron screamed half-heartedly into the palms of his hands.  
  
“I can't go over this again, Harry.”  
“Seems to me like we're going to have to keep going over it.”  
“Until I give in and agree and have your child?”  
“What other option do you have? If they won't help you get rid of our baby?”  
  
He didn't want to say what was going through his mind.  
  
“Ron.” Harry stepped in front of him. “I've told you. I want this baby. Even if it's weird, unnatural... completely wrong. I want it, but I want you more. And if you're even thinking of endangering yourself to... to solve this problem...”  
“Then you'll what? Lock me up?”  
“Maybe.”  
“You can't do that Harry.” Ron shook his head and laughed. “And no, no, fuck's sake, we're having this fight again. I can't have this fight again, I can't.”  
  
As he as gesturing, he accidentally sent another chair flying across the room into the opposite wall. His wand was safe in his pocket.  
  
“Well, that's just great.”  
“What?”  
“It also said that my magic might become unpredictable, sometimes be weak, sometimes be super strong. It's the hormones I'm never supposed to have fucking me over.”  
“What said what?”  
“The hospital gave me some reading to do. It's thrilling. A right old page-turner. Somewhere between 'constipation' and something with a really long name I can't pronounce with a shortened name of SPD, I'm so honoured to be a medical miracle. Honestly, Harry. You know, I've always wanted piles and to have my hair fall out and for the total separation of my lower stomach muscles!”  
“Fucking hell, how were either of us ever born? Why do woman do this?”  
“They mostly want the baby at the end of it.”  
  
Harry sighed and slumped where he stood.  
  
“You're right. We can't keep having this fight over and over.”  
“Thank you.”  
“Can I read the stuff they gave you?”  
“If you want.”  
“Where is it?”  
“At home, buried under a load of jumpers I've not worn since 1999.”  
  
Harry snorted. “Well... I guess we should get back. Do your robes up before you scare the maintenance staff.”  
  
Despite what he'd said, Harry pulled Ron to standing and starting buttoning up his messy robes himself. Ron let him, enjoying the close proximity and the smell of Harry's hair as it bobbed in front of him.  
  
“They gave me potions to stop me chucking up all the time.”  
“Excellent news. I don't much like being puked on, y'know.”  
  
Harry was smiling when he looked up again. He leant in and kissed Ron on the lips.  
  
And somehow, with that kiss, Ron felt normal, just for those few fleeting moments.  
  
“We're going to have to tell them, you know...”  
“I know. But not yet.”  
“Sooner is better than later, Ron.”  
“How can you be so ready for everything to go down the toilet?”  
“Perhaps I don't have much to lose.”  
“That's still my sister you're talking about, Harry.”  
“Yeah. Sure. You remembered that the time you banged me over her hundred-and-fifty quid bedspread. You were really against it.”  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. Harry had a point though.  
  
“I just can't bear the thought of hurting Hermione.”  
“Is it that? Or is it just that you're scared of leaving everything you've known... and the fight with your family?”  
“It's those things too, but mainly it's about hurting her and I can't believe you even asked me that. We're not like you and Gin. We still care about one another.”  
“What about honesty then? How can you bear to lie to her?”  
“Well, if you hadn't noticed, I've been a nervous wreck for years and racked with with guilt about the whole fucking thing.”  
  
They were sliding back into the fight and Ron looked at his watch.  
  
“We've got to go. We're both due in a meeting in ten minutes.”  
“I can think of so many other things I'd rather be doing than listening to that droning old git go on about the importance of information governance.” Harry gave a few fake whimpers.  
  
Ron pulled open the door anyway. Ministry bureaucracy was hell.  
  
***  
  
“Hey! Hermione? You home? I was thinking tonight we could go out for dinner somewhere. Maybe that Italian place where they keep bringing back the free bread rolls?”  
  
Ron was starving and had a massive craving for pasta. In the wake of his nausea his appetite had roared to life.  
  
“And then maybe we could stop and have a coffee somewhere, that shop with the twinkly lights around the front. I could murder some of their apple cake for afters.”  
  
He climbed up to the top level of their house and started unbuttoning his robes before he got to the bedroom. He could see that the light was on so he kept talking.  
  
“How was your day? Mine sucked. I mean really sucked. Apparently we're failing at record keeping. 'Cause that's what they pay me to do all day apparently, sit there, scratch my arse, and write reports until the cows come home.”  
  
Ron stepped into the bedroom and looked around. His robes were open to the waist.  
  
Hermione was sat on the bed and when she looked at him, he knew in an instant that she _knew._  
  
“What the fuck are these?” She whispered tremulously.  
  
In her lap was the pile of information the Healer had given him on male pregnancies. On the duvet in front of her sat the little black pouch which contained the poison he'd procured from a shop down Knockturn Alley whilst hiding under a glamour and a big cloak.  
  
He could see the most damning sheet of parchment in her hand. The one with his medical history and status on it. The one which implicitly named Harry James Potter as the father of his baby.  
  
“Ron.”  
“I...” All wind gone from his sails, Ron had no idea where to even begin.  
  
Hermione just stared at him, her eyes red and her face dripping with tears.  
  
“I'm sorry.” It was all he could think of. He knew he owed her so much more. “I'm so fucking sorry.”  
“Is this some sort of joke?” she asked, clearly horrified.  
“I wish it was.” Ron shook his head helplessly.  
  
She started to sob and dropped what she was holding, wrapping her arms around her upper body as if to protect herself. Unable to watch her cry without acting, Ron cautiously approached the bed and eventually knelt onto the mattress. When she didn't start punching him, he properly sat next to her and wrapped his own arms around her, clutching at her tightly.  
  
“I knew you loved him. I didn't know that you'd do... this.”  
“I didn't do this!” Ron half-yelped. “You really think I would? It was an accident! I inhaled some proper fucked up potion and then...” he swallowed uneasily, so nearly saying 'and then Harry fucked me'. “And now this... and everything's messed up.”  
  
He hung his own head and closed his eyes. Hermione stayed still in his arms.  
  
Ron had felt shitty and worthless a lot of times in his life, but none of them had ever come close to the feelings of self-hatred coursing through him at that moment.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry doesn't understand why nobody is reacting in the way he thinks they will. He's had enough of surprises, and enough of fighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, language, infidelity / adultery, Mpreg, frank discussion around termination/abortion/potential suicidal acts, extremely dialogue heavy chapter.

**Harry**  
  
He already had a headache and he'd been there a grand total of three minutes. He'd answered Ron's Patronus with his usual haste, but the second he'd walked through the door he had known that there was something missing from the message.  
  
His best friends' usually warm and friendly home couldn't have felt more unwelcoming Harry had spent a lot of time there over the years. He'd spent the night of his twenty-first birthday passed out in the bath with a fake moustache drawn on his face by Ron as punishment. They'd spent so much time in the walls of the house, feeling safe, feeling protected. Being together and, whether any of them wanted to admit it, healing together from the fact their adolescence had been taken away.  
  
Sitting on the sofa he'd sat on hundreds of times before, Harry felt very small and unprepared for the conversation he knew he was about to have.  
  
Ron looked ten times worse than he had when they'd last parted. Hermione had the jump on him, though, with bloodshot eyes, huge hair and deep bags under her eyes.  
  
They were each sitting separately on different pieces of furniture. That more than anything screamed that everything was wrong. Normally they ended up crowded together, sharing space as they had since they were eleven.  
  
Ron coughed gently and then finally looked up and met Harry's eyes for the first time since his arrival. “Hermione... Hermione knows.”  
  
Even though he'd guessed that, and he could have slapped Ron for stating the obvious, it still sent a rush of fear and embarrassment through his body.  
  
“I... right.”  
  
Harry swallowed and looked down at his feet. He had no idea what to say or how to act. He didn't know whether he wanted Hermione to break the silence or not, but it was unbearable sitting there with the tension building between the three of them.  
  
“I knew that you two were...”  
“You did?” Harry asked in surprise.  
“How could I miss it?” Hermione gave a little huff. “I'm not like Ginny, who gave up looking a long time ago. How could I fail to notice that you always slink off together, that you look at one another like you're being torn apart whenever you can't be close to one another?”  
“We really thought we'd hidden it well.”  
“You hid it atrociously,” she informed him tartly. “But... then I understand it's hard to see the person you love every day and not be able to be with them. I'm not excusing you but I _do_ understand it.”  
  
Harry nodded and willed away the blush in his cheeks.  
  
“You're both _so_ selfish.”  
  
He had nothing to say to that. He was. Ron was. They'd been selfish together for a long time.  
  
“And this... this is unbelievable.”  
  
Again, she was right on the money. There was nothing he could possibly add to it.  
  
“And I don't know what the fuck we're supposed to do now... because how can... we're married, Harry. Marriages don't just go away, even when there isn't a medical miracle amongst the couple.”  
“I know, Hermione. But believe me, neither of us planned for this and... Ron doesn't want it.”  
“I know he doesn't.”  
“And I'm sitting here looking at everything I could have as opposed to what I do have, and I can't feel the same way that he feels about it.”  
“I know that too.”  
  
Her voice was so calm it was starting to annoy Harry.  
  
“So if you know all this shit, what do you think should happen about it?”  
“That's what I don't know. I don't know and it's driving me mad, because I'm me.”  
  
Finally her composed veneer seemed to crack and her face crumpled. She started to cry and Harry immediately felt ten times worse than he did before. _God._  
  
Eventually he looked over at Ron, who was sat in the armchair with his elbow on the arm, chin propped on the heel of his hand. His skin was an unhealthy pallor and he was sweating slightly, but what was scariest was how dead he looked behind the eyes.  
  
“And he's looked like that for two days,” Hermione muttered, sniffing hard.  
“You've known for two days and he only just messaged me?”  
“He wanted to the night I found out, but...”  
“But what, Hermione?”  
“I couldn't bear the thought of seeing you until now.”  
  
Harry held onto the breath he'd been about to release and made his lungs ache. He understood why she felt like that, but it didn't make it hurt any less.  
  
“I get it, if you hate me,” he whispered. “I'm so sorry, Hermione.”  
  
He reached up and rubbed at his stinging eyes. It wouldn't go away, however, and he was faced with something which he'd sworn off after the war: crying. Soon there was a steady flow of tears down his cheeks and he tore his glasses off his face and dropped them onto the carpet. As he had seen Ron do so many times over the years they'd been together, he buried his face in his hands and tried not to sob too loudly.  
  
Harry lost track of the minutes and the sounds around him. It seemed to go on forever – an elongated loss of control which, no matter how much he tried, couldn't be clawed back. He was shivering but the house wasn't cold.  
  
He realised that perhaps for the first time, he was feeling the sort of devastation that Ron had been experiencing since they'd first found out he was pregnant.  
  
And with that thought, he wondered where Ron was, what he was doing – why he wasn't there holding him as he cried. It made him look up. Everyone was still where they had been before he'd disappeared into his finger fort. Hermione was crying quietly, watching him. Ron was still in the armchair, chin propped up, dead behind the eyes.  
  
Taking a several deep breaths to try and steady himself, Harry reached for his glasses. He put them back on with shaking fingers and blinked furiously. The room became clearer and the colours more vivid.  
  
Eventually Hermione unfolded from where she sat and walked over to fish a box of tissues from one of the many bookshelves in their living room. She grabbed several for herself and then handed the box out to him. Harry took it gratefully and looked up at her.  
  
Hermione reached out and gently pushed his hair back from his brow a few times before sighing and sitting down next to him. Unsure of whether it would be welcome or not, Harry tentatively put his arm around her and pulled her close. She put her head on his shoulder.  
  
They were both looking at the love of their lives, Harry realised, but he didn't seem to be looking back at them. He'd never seen Ron's face so devoid of emotion, not even when he'd been comatose under the Black Lake during their fourth year at Hogwarts. Even in a bewitched sleep he'd been more animated than he currently sat.  
  
“How long have you been in love with him, Harry?” Hermione whispered.  
“Forever, I think.”  
“No.” She sniffed. “You've loved him since you were eleven. But how long have you been in _love_ with him?”  
  
Harry hesitated before answering, not because he didn't want to tell her, but because he was trying to decide exactly when it had been.  
  
“We first kissed after the war. Those nights we stayed up. One night after you'd fallen asleep, we were so drunk... we kissed and... I don't think my heart or brain ever stopped to think about what it was doing. I was just suddenly in love with him.”  
“And you've been doing this behind my back for years.”  
“Neither of us wanted to hurt you.”  
“But you still carried on.”  
“Ron was...”  
“Selfish.”  
“Afraid. He loves us both. He didn't want to have to choose, fair enough that makes him selfish. But he just... he cares so much about both of us that he's been keeping us both happy at the expense of his own sanity and feelings. I genuinely don't know who he'd pick. Me or you. If the house was on fire and he could only save one of us, I don't know.”  
“Well now he's got a baby on the way he should save himself.”  
“He will never save himself over either of us, that's one thing I do know for sure.”  
  
Hermione made a soft noise of assent and adjusted her position against him.  
  
“I can't imagine a world in which his body will look pregnant. It makes me feel sick thinking about it.”  
“It makes me feel... happy.” Harry murmured the last word because he realised that she wouldn't want to hear it. “Freaked out but...”  
“You want this.”  
  
Harry didn't bother to answer; she knew anyway.  
  
“I found a bottle of poison with the information from the hospital.”  
  
Throat instantly dry, Harry couldn't get his tongue in gear to make any noise other than a gasp.  
  
“I know. I don't even know how I feel about all this, but I know that he must be really desperate for this not to happen.”  
“He doesn't want anything to change.”  
  
“Don't be a prat, Harry. I know things have to change.”  
  
They both jumped as Ron spoke. He got to his feet and stretched. Harry heard several things pop and crunch. Ron let out a little whimper which turned into a full-blown yawn. When he was finished he had somehow managed to end up looking even more tired, though Harry hadn't thought that possible.  
  
The redhead slouched over and then sat down cross-legged in front of them. Harry felt nervous as Ron first laced one set of fingers through Harry's and then the other through Hermione's.  
  
“You're right,” he said quietly. “I'm unforgivably selfish. I'm sorry. Both of you. I've not been fair to either of you.”  
“You're not the only one at fault,” Harry reminded him gently, squeezing Ron's long fingers. “We've all played our part here.”  
“Hermione's done nothing.” Ron frowned, as if Harry had said something incredibly stupid.  
“That's not exactly true. I knew what was going on. Knew what you were doing. But in nine years have I ever said anything? Ever sat down and made you admit it? Felt strongly enough about it to sit you down, have it out and end our relationship over it?”  
“It's not the same,” Ron insisted. “You're guilty by omission and that's not the same as... as adultery.”  
  
He lifted his chin slightly and squared his shoulders as he said it.  
  
“That's what it's called. That's not what it feels like, though,” Hermione said.  
  
They both looked at her.  
  
“It feels inevitable. And it feels... this is going to sound so stupid, but you two together makes so much sense that it feels right. I'm sitting here, looking at you holding hands and you look beautiful together. And now you have this opportunity, this chance for a life which would never have happened if you'd not gone on that raid...”  
  
Harry glanced at Ron to see how he was taking what Hermione was saying. He looked sad.  
  
 _He thinks she's not cut up about losing him. That she's glad._  
  
“But it was the life we were supposed to have,” Ron murmured finally, shaking her hand. “You wanted to try for a baby and now...”  
“Now you're getting it instead.”  
“I never wanted this. I don't want it.”  
“But you've got it, so what are you going to do with it?” Hermione wiped her nose on a scrunched up tissue. “Things happen for a reason Ron. This... this baby. It happened for a reason.”  
“Yeah, because some screwed up old crank was a sadistic cunt,” Ron said icily. “There's no great higher being at work here, Hermione. Just an old man with a vengeance and an evil mind.”  
  
“So what are you going to do? Swallow that poison and kill yourself along with it?”  
“If I have to.”  
“No!  
  
It took Harry a moment to realise that both he and Hermione had spoken at the same time. He felt his cheeks colour as he looked at her.  
  
“If you think for one second either of us would leave you alone knowing that's what you've got in that stupid, tiny little brain of yours, you've got another thing coming!” Hermione half-yelled at him. She jumped to her feet and strode to the other side of the living room. “I might have lost you emotionally, Ron, but my God if I have to suffer through losing you physically I don't know what I'll do.”  
“You haven't lost me emotionally,” he moaned, also rising.  
  
Harry found himself sat on the sofa, watching them square off against one another as he had done so many times during their teenage years. If his back didn't hurt as much, he could have been sixteen all over again. He slumped back against the sofa and waited. There was no point trying to excuse himself to give them privacy – they'd never allow it, and he owed them his company through such an awful moment.  
  
“So what, then? You're going to stay married with me and have Harry's baby? Whilst he stays living with your sister? I presume she has no clue about any of this?”  
“She doesn't know,” Harry confirmed, looking at his knees.  
  
“Well, you'll enjoy telling her – God knows your relationship only exists in sniping comments and monosyllabic grunts these days.” Hermione pushed her hair back from her face.  
“But we aren't like that,” Ron said loudly. “I love you. I fucking adore you.”  
“But you love and adore Harry equally, and you're carrying his child, Ron.”  
“I don't want to be.”  
“Ouch!”  
  
Harry couldn't help his interjection and he folded his arms over his chest. “Ron, I know you hate this but when you say that, it hurts me. It's like you can't bear the thought of that little piece of you inside of you.”  
  
“Oh my god, this is mental!” Ron cried, throwing his hands up. “It's not about it being a piece of you, or me, it's about it being a fucking parasite in a body not built to withstand it. It's about being male and forced into being female. It's almost like being fucking emasculated and nobody seems to get that!”  
  
Harry stopped short of quipping that 'emasculated' was a big word for Ron. He thought he might get thumped.  
  
“And now, I'm going to lose the most important thing in my life – my marriage – because of it, and you, and I'm sorry, Harry, if it's all a little bit too raw to skip around the room for. I love you. I've always loved you, but you damn well know that I love Hermione with every fucking ounce of my being. And if she leaves me, which she has every right to do, I'm going to grieve and mourn and be lost because I don't know what I'd do without her.”  
  
The room fell silent after Ron's speech ended. The wizard himself seemed to deflate once he'd closed his mouth and Harry could see more sweat beading on his brow. He could have predicted it – he knew what Ron looked like when he was about to pass out.  
  
But he wasn't quick enough to catch Ron as he folded awkwardly to the carpet and landed with a thump.  
  
“Oh, Christ.” Hermione was on her knees in seconds, by his side, taking his pulse and listening to his breathing.  
  
Ron wasn't out like he'd been in the hospital. Harry could see his eyelids fluttering and his lips moving. With a sigh he stepped over Ron's legs and knelt down on his other side.  
  
“This takes me back,” he muttered dryly, recalling blood and a forest and Hermione's shaking hands as she dripped dittany into Ron's shoulder.  
“Me too,” she said.  
“At least I haven't splinched myself this time,” Ron croaked. “Sorry. For the drama.”  
  
Harry cracked up at the look on his face. He reached out and gently ran his thumb over Ron's cheek, forgetting that they weren't alone. Hermione watched them closely.  
  
He suddenly needed to kiss Ron. Even though it was in front of Ron's wife – their mutual best friend. Harry leant forward and did it before his conscience could talk him out of it. He kissed him. And it felt so terribly thrilling to do it in view of someone they knew. They'd been openly together in a few Muggle gay bars they'd sought out, but never shared intimacy in front of anyone from their world.  
  
“I wish I could hate you.”  
“Wish I could hate myself.” Harry looked up at her glumly. “But this...”  
“I know, Harry.” She somehow found it within herself to smile at him. “This is the first time in my life I've ever been jealous of you.”  
  
“Can I get up now?” Ron groaned from the carpet.  
  
“If we let you up will you try and be adult about this?” Hermione looked down at him.  
“I am being adult. I'm not wanting to bring a child into a world where everything is complicated and his father doesn't even want him.”  
“Hey, there are two fathers in this equation.”  
“And it's a boy?” Hermione asked, eyebrows raised.  
“What?” Ron frowned.  
“You said 'his' and 'him'.  
“You need your ears cleaned,” Ron muttered, and struggled to his feet, leaving them both on the floor in his wake.  
  
He left the living room and shortly after they heard him crashing about in the kitchen.  
  
“Is it a boy?” Hermione whispered.  
“No idea. I don't think he knows what it is.”  
“But he thinks its a boy.”  
  
Harry couldn't help the massive grin which spread over his face at the thought.  
  
“I'm ordering pizza,” Ron hollered from the kitchen. “How many am I ordering?”  
  
Harry glanced at Hermione, who was looking at him with the strangest expression. Half-amused, half-agonised.  
  
“Three,” she shouted for him in response. “Make mine have double cheese and if you put mushrooms on it I swear _will_ hurt you. We've been married for long enough for you to know that I hate mushrooms but you always order my pizzas with them and I've had enough! If you're leaving me, you can fucking get my pizza right, you selfish bastard!”  
  
They heard Ron swearing to himself.  
  
“Hey, has he made it to the grand old age of twenty-seven and can finally be trusted to use a phone?” Harry asked, sniggering.  
“He still tends to shout but overall his performance has drastically improved. I think we've turned a corner.”  
  
As if on cue, Ron's raised voice with their order floated through to the living room.  
  
“C'mon.” Harry grunted as he got to his feet and held out his hands to Hermione to help her up. “Let's get in there before they spit on our food.”  
  
***  
  
“Mmm, that's nice,” Ron purred, stretching out his legs properly to put his feet in Harry's lap.  
  
It was late and Harry had no idea of the time. He only knew the empty pizza boxes on the floor, Hermione asleep on the opposite sofa and the several bottles of ale he'd had. He put his current bottle down and curled his fingers around Ron's huge feet. The redhead moaned again and wiggled his toes.  
  
Harry started to massage them without paying attention. He was too busy watching Hermione sleep.  
  
“She should have hexed seven shades of shit out of both of us and tossed us out on our arses,” he mused.  
“Mmm.” Ron sighed and rolled his head to the left to look at her. “She's putting a brave face on it but I know I've broken her heart. I never wanted to do that. You know I didn't.”  
“I know,” Harry promised. “I'm sorry that you didn't get to do this on your terms.”  
“Perhaps it's better this way. It's done. There's no going back now.”  
“Well, now she knows... there's someone else that deserves to know too.”  
“I know.” Ron reached out and trailed his fingers over the carpet.  
  
Carpet that Harry knew he'd laid himself with magic. They were sitting in a house which Ron had put his sweat and love into. A home which he'd made perfect to raise a family in.  
  
“I have to go,” Harry blurted. “Oh. Fuck. I've got to go, Ron.”  
  
He shoved Ron's legs off him and staggered to his feet, feeling every single one of the five ales he'd imbibed. The room was spinning.  
  
“Hey, what's wrong?” Ron asked, jumping up to follow him. “Harry. Talk to me.”  
“I need to go home. Or... somewhere. I can't be here and see everything I've ruined.”  
“Harry.”  
  
Ron chased him all the way to the front door, which Harry tried hard to open but the locks were on and his drunken fingers slipped over them. He grabbed the handle and shook it with a frustrated growl.  
  
It petered out when Ron's hands touched to his hips from behind, then crept over them and locked in front of his stomach.  
  
“What's going on?” Ron whispered in his ear.  
“I've just... this has fucked everything up. You're so unhappy you bought poison to kill our baby and probably yourself and Hermione's heartbroken and everything's just... fucked.”  
  
Harry tried hard to keep calm but before he knew it he was hyperventilating in a way which he hadn't experienced since his nightmares after the Battle. Lungs stinging and mind spiralling out of control, he leant back against Ron, trying to glean any comfort he could from the man he loved.  
  
“Shhhhhhh.” Ron cuddled him tight and kissed his hair. “Shhhh. It's all right, Harry. It's all right.”  
“It's not,” he choked.  
“Harry... Harry. Come on. Shh. Sweetheart.”  
  
Even though it had been nine years, Harry froze on hearing the endearment. Ron had never called him anything but Harry or variations thereof. 'Sweetheart' was a word he used with Hermione in his softer moments, when he thought nobody could hear him. Harry wasn't used to being anybody's sweetheart.  
  
But there was something nauseating prickling through him which made him hot and pleased.  
  
“Why the freak out, little Gryffindor?”  
­”Just... seeing this house. Her. I love both of them and seeing what I'd be taking you from...”  
“Harry. I told you. I know things have to change. Whether this baby comes or not, things have been said which can't be taken back. I know she doesn't want to but she _doesn't_ feel the same way about me. Can't. She knows she's not the only person in my heart now and she doesn't like it.”  
“For the record, I never liked it, I lived with it. And she's been living with it too.”  
“I know, but now, it's different. I told you it would all be different. It is.”  
  
Harry nodded glumly and stared at the closed front door.  
  
One of Ron's hands came up to hold him across the chest. Harry's head tilted to one side and despite himself, he started to smile as Ron kissed down his neck.  
  
“C'mon. You're not going home tonight,” Ron said. “Let's fall asleep together on the sofa and make our backs hurt.”  
“Hermione.”  
“She knows, Harry.”  
“I know, but rubbing it in doesn't seem right or fair...”  
“D'you want to go home to an empty house?”  
“No,” Harry admitted. “And I don't want to think about telling Gin, either.”  
“Then come on.”  
  
Ron turned him around and marched him back to the living room. He shoved him in the direction of the biggest sofa and paused by Hermione to throw a blanket over her and tuck her hair behind her ear. Then he rounded the coffee table and laid down with his back to sofa cushions, patting the space in front of him. Harry still didn't want to upset Hermione, but he was drunk and tired and Ron looked so inviting.  
  
He settled in and Ron pulled another blanket over the pair of them.  
  
“You have too many blankets,” Harry mumbled, nestling against Ron's arm under his head, and fell asleep.  
  
***  
Harry leapt out of the way as a kitchen chair narrowly missed his head.  
  
If he'd been surprised by the placid nature of his first discussion with Hermione, who loved him, he was _stunned_ by the reaction of his girlfriend, who he knew for a fact hated him.  
  
 _Well, she hates me even more now._  
  
“And you! I could throttle you with my bare hands!”  
  
When it boiled down to it, he couldn't do it alone. Ron had bravely offered to accompany him to break the news to Ginny. Harry hadn't felt right since the night he'd spent cuddled up to Ron on the sofa in his house. An unsettled feeling had been present ever since and every time he got a moment to think, his brain buzzed and his fingers shook and he generally felt on edge.  
  
“Whoa, no you don't!” He cried suddenly, realising where Ginny's wand was trained – on Ron directly.  
  
He stepped in front of Ron and held his hands out. It was a bizarre role reversal; Ron had thrown himself before Harry to protect him countless times but it was rare he got the chance to do the same.  
  
 _Except it's not just Ron you're protecting, is it?_  
  
The thought of Ginny pointing a wand at his baby did nothing for his blood pressure.  
  
“Put that thing away and try to act your age,” he said loudly, only narrowly avoiding slipping up and saying 'calm down'.  
  
Telling Ginny Weasley to calm down had never, ever served to do anything but make her fume harder. He'd learnt that very young.  
  
“This is a new level of ridiculous, even for you two,” Ginny snarled angrily. “I mean... It's not even natural!”  
“Finally, someone that feels the same way I do,” Ron muttered.  
“Don't think for one second we are on the same page,” she yelled across the kitchen. “You've ruined everything, Ron, like you always do! Like you have ever since we were tiny! You're not happy unless you're fucking something up for someone, are you?”  
  
Harry knew how much those words would hurt Ron. He wasn't surprised when he heard a shaky breath from behind him.  
  
“Maybe you should go, you don't need this,” he said, over his shoulder.  
“I'm not leaving you Harry. Not unless you ask me to.”  
  
Harry thought of Hermione's words about how selfish they'd been as he realised that he would never ask Ron to leave. He needed him. He'd always needed him.  
  
“Who knows about this?”  
“Just Hermione and the hospital.”  
“Too scared to tell your own family how much you've fucked up?” Ginny asked Ron.  
  
“We're just trying to process this and decide what to do.”  
  
She started laughing then and turned away from them. Harry knew better than to let his guard down.  
  
“So what now then?” She asked, stalking back and forth in front of the oven. “How are we going to solve this problem?”  
“Well... Ron and I... we've decided that we will be... trying to...”  
  
“We've decided that given the situation, and that this has been going on for so long, that it's time we grew up and committed to each other, and tried being together like we've wanted for... for so long.”  
  
Ron's words were strong and firmly delivered, but Harry knew he didn't feel that way inside. He couldn't even really remember how they'd come to that decision, only that he'd been at the bottom of the Firewhiskey bottle and both of them felt that they needed something, anything to come of yet another session of soul searching.  
  
“What about Hermione?” Ginny asked.  
“She knows and we're... we're separating.”  
  
Harry didn't have to listen hard to hear the hurt in Ron's tone – the words were riddled with it. He himself was riddled with it. He was distraught.  
  
“Divorcing?”  
“Separating. For now. And eventually... yeah. We'll get divorced.”  
“And us?” Ginny demanded of Harry, folding her arms over her chest.  
“Ginny... please.” He sighed. “We both know that neither of us have felt anything even remotely like positive emotions for each other for years. We see each other less and less with each week which I never thought was possible because we never see one another as is. We're living a lie. I love Ron. And I'm sorry, but I don't love you.”  
  
“Merlin, Harry, don't hold back,” Ron whispered.  
  
“Oh, it's fucking true. She's stomping around here like she's been the perfect partner when she's never here, she can't look at me, she hates me. She's been sleeping with one of her trainers on and off for three years, not that she's ever deigned to tell me about it – I found out through someone on the force. Through fucking work! So don't you dare stand there and act like you're the injured party – you're just as guilty over the failure of this relationship as I am!”  
  
His temper had run away from him and Harry broke off abruptly. Anger had consumed about eighty percent of him.  
  
It was probably the reason he didn't see her move, point the wand and take her aim. The first he knew about it was the cutting spell slicing across his cheek. He turned, trying to shield Ron, but he seemed unscathed.  
  
“Get out,” Ginny shouted.  
“This is my house! I own it! You get out!” Harry hollered back. “Mine. Not yours.”  
“I live here.”  
“No, you live in precious North Wales with your precious Quidditch team. That's your home, Ginny, that's where your heart is.”  
“I can't believe you're throwing me out of my own home.”  
“It's not your home, it's my home,” Harry repeated. “Left to me, not you. You've got an hour. Get your stuff and get the hell out.”  
“So you can move Ron in here and play happy families with this fucked up little spiel you've got going on?”  
  
She had them there, Harry had to concede. That was exactly his plan. Ron wanted Hermione to have their house and to make things as easy for her as possible, but that would leave him homeless.  
  
To Harry, it was clear that they should start living together if in nine months they were going to have a baby to look after.  
  
“This is just...” Ginny struggled to get her words out. “I can't believe...”  
  
She let out a shriek of rage and then stormed past them both – Harry put a cautionary arm out in front of Ron – and ran up into the house. They started to hear smashes and bangs as she went.  
  
“Harry, she's ruining the house.”  
“She can do what she likes to the fucking house, as long as she doesn't hurt you.”  
“You're bleeding,” Ron pointed out.  
“It's nothing. I'm just glad she didn't get you.”  
  
He protectively pulled Ron close to him and kissed his temple.  
  
“I suppose I should just be grateful that we're both still alive and the house is still standing,” said Ron, morosely.  
  
There was a particularly loud smash from above and they both balked. Everything got louder and louder until everything went completely dead.  
  
“She's gone,” Harry breathed. He pulled his wand out.  
“Whoa, you're going to change the wards already?” Ron asked, his eyebrows high.  
“I don't want her in here. And I want this to be a place where you're safe so, yeah, I'm changing the fucking wards. This isn't her house, it's mine. Sirius left it to me. I love it and there's no way she's ever coming back in it.”  
“This is her home, Harry.”  
“NO IT ISN'T!” He bellowed, too loudly given that he was still very close to Ron.  
  
Ron reached up and wiped some spit off his face.  
  
“Sorry,” Harry murmured, embarrassed. “Got a bit angry there.”  
“I noticed.” Ron scratched his head, looking awkward.  
  
Harry sighed and pocketed his wand. “So... I suppose that's that.”  
“Seems to be.”  
“They both know.”  
“Family will know soon enough.”  
“Fuck. Block every single Floo we have. And the doors.”  
  
Ron laughed and slouched over to the table, where he perched on the edge to take the weight off his feet. His laugh faded, though. “Leave them all open. What's the point, Harry. This is... might as well face the music, eh?”  
“I was kind of hoping to be able to enjoy living with you properly for the first time for a while.”  
  
Ron looked away, but Harry could tell he was blushing.  
  
“You know, Harry... I hope I'm not a massive disappointment to you.”  
“You couldn't be.”  
“We both know that's not true. I disappoint everybody in the end.”  
“I've done enough arguing today, Ron. We both have.”  
  
Ron shrugged. “Just... this is an awful lot to throw away for someone as... what would Hermione say? Someone as mediocre as I am.”  
“Hermione hasn't said that since you were seventeen. And she never said it as explicitly as that. And look where you ended up.”  
“Cheating on her for years,” Ron responded ruefully. “No, Harry. You were both right. I'm selfish, and too cowardly to do the right thing by either of you.”  
“But you're here. You're doing the right thing by me now, by our baby.”  
“The right thing for the baby would be to stop it coming into being as soon as possible.”  
  
Harry slammed his hand into the worktop. “NO. Not this again. Not tonight, anyway. Tonight... I want to take you up to bed, and I want to crawl in it and fall asleep next to you know knowing that you are my partner in more than just rushed hours and whispers and secrecy. Mine. We're an 'us' after all this time.”  
“Ah, Harry, there's always been an 'us'.”  
“Not properly.”  
  
Despite himself, it seemed, Ron couldn't help but smile. Harry wondered if perhaps his own enthusiasm was infectious, because it was the first smile he'd seen reach Ron's eyes in several days.  
  
“Let me show you around.” Harry smiled. “Let me show you... our bedroom.”  
  
He held his hand out to Ron, who took it.  
  
Ginny's screams and bangs were still echoing in his mind, but Harry couldn't help but feel hopeful.  
  
“Can we change the bed?”  
  
Harry laughed. “Ginny and I stopped sharing a bed years ago.”  
“Good.”  
  
***  
  
“I don't like it,” Ron muttered under his breath.  
  
They were walking back from the canteen, both clutching their lunch to eat at their desks.  
  
“I'm torn between thinking we shouldn't knock the peace and quiet, and being bloody terrified and desperate for someone to say something, anything.” Harry pulled open a door and gestured Ron through it with his sandwich. “I mean... They must want to say _something_.”  
“Even if it's to yell.”  
“Someone will want to yell. Like we've not done enough of that with our significant others already. And each other.”  
“We haven't yelled at each other that much over the last few days,” Ron pointed out.  
“Only because you've kept your gob shut about wanting an abortion, but I know you haven't stopped thinking about it.”  
“I'm not poking the dragon,” Ron said testily, shouldering open the door to their office. They shared it with a few others but at that particular moment, it was empty.  
  
Of colleagues. Harry froze when he saw someone sitting in the chair at Ron's desk.  
  
Arthur Weasley looked at the stack of food in his youngest son's hands and opened his mouth to say something which he then seemed to think better of.  
  
“Dad.” Ron's voice was horribly scratchy. Harry could tell how scared he felt. “What can we do for you?”  
“Sit, sit... don't let me interrupt your lunch...” He waved them into their chairs and Harry felt odd taking his own; it felt so far away from Ron.  
  
Neither of them made to unpack their food, but sat waiting for the older wizard to speak.  
  
“Well... this is... I didn't expect to see you both together.”  
“We tend to come as a two these days,” Ron explained needlessly.  
“Yes. And that, I believe, is why I have my only daughter turning my home upside in fury and your mother is being... your mother.”  
  
Harry had to feel for Arthur as he closed his eyes and heaved a sigh.  
  
“Boys. Well, you're not boys any more. You're both twenty-seven. Can you please tell me what's going on? I can't get a straight story from Ginny except for that you threw her out...” He nodded at Harry. “And that you've ruined her life.” He looked at Ron.  
  
“That about sums it up, to be fair,” Ron conceded.  
“Ron's pregnant,” Harry blurted, as a result of feeling annoyed with Ron that he was making them both sound like bastards and he not being sure how else to phrase it.  
“And, I'm pregnant,” Ron chimed in. “Yes. That's a big part of the problem.”  
  
One look at Ron told Harry was going back to the deadened, unfeeling place. He really needed him on form for the conversation they were about to have.  
  
Arthur looked like someone had just clonked him round the head.  
  
“What?” He asked incredulously, looking between them.  
“Haringey. That old, evil bastard had some really fucked up shit in his stores... Some things got smashed during the capture and I got a face full of something nobody could place at first. We thought I was okay.”  
“And then he collapsed after that attack on the office... you must have read about it. And we found out he was pregnant.”  
  
Arthur blinked hard and fast. “What, so... did it make you pregnant? Or did it just change your body so that someone else could unwittingly make you pregnant by...” Arthur paled slightly as he thought about just what making a man pregnant might entail.  
“The latter,” Harry said delicately. “And... I suppose now's as good a time as any... I'm the father.”  
  
If Arthur had looked flabbergasted before, he was reaching near-Ron levels of greyish pallor.  
  
“So you two..? How long?”  
“Since we were nineteen.”  
“Ron, you're _married_ ,” Arthur admonished.  
“I'm not proud of myself, Dad. Not in any way. I fucked up big time. And I'm sorry.”  
“What about you and Hermione?”  
“We're separating. Hermione... Hermione knew we were in love with one another but the pregnancy was, understandably, several steps too far.”  
  
Harry nodded and made a face on finishing which he hoped conveyed that he completely agreed with her reaction. Ron looked miserable.  
  
“Why did you get married to her if-”  
“Because I love her too. I always have. And I'm not in the right frame of mind to have this conversation again with anyone, when the only people I need to go through it with are Harry and Hermione.”  
“And your sister.”  
“She's Harry's remit. Not mine. They have their own problems and have for years.”  
“She is your sister,” Arthur repeated angrily.  
  
“And she's treated Harry like shit for years. None of you wanted to see it. Nobody really cared what was going on between them except me, and I did what I could to make him happy. Ginny's playing the injured party and I'm not denying that she is to a certain extent – she's just been kicked out of her home and Harry broke up with her. But she's not fucking innocent, Dad, and I won't have you sit there and imply she is when you haven't seen just how fucking lonely he's been, for years. He deserves better. He deserves more.”  
  
“And that's what you've been giving him?” Arthur asked sarcastically. “Better and more? When you've been married for the entirety of your relationship?”  
  
Harry watched Ron's mouth draw into an extremely tight line and the tips of his ears went red. Though he was slightly afraid of what might come out of Ron's mouth next, he was also filling with that hot, prickly feeling again, the one he'd felt when Ron had called him 'sweetheart'.  
  
“As I said, Dad, I'm not proud of myself, and this has been tearing me apart for years. All I can say that is if you imagine yourself loving two people, equally, and then trying to choose between them when doing so will hurt everyone involved... it's not as clear cut as you seem to think. I love him, I love her. I'm married to her but I'm carrying his child. I'm not happy about that but nobody in this fucking country will solve that problem. Whichever way I go here, I'm fucked. And I don't expect anyone to forgive me, I sure as fuck haven't forgiven myself. But this is happening, and I'm pregnant, and I don't need you or anyone else piling judgement on top of what I can promise you is a massively teetering pile!”  
  
Harry winced at the volume of Ron's voice by the end.  
  
“Ron.” He got up and put his hands on the redhead's shoulders. “Don't punch me, but you need to keep your voice down. We're in the middle of the Ministry.”  
  
Nodding, Ron looked down at his thighs. Harry glanced at Arthur, who looked simply stunned.  
  
“How... how can you be pregnant?”  
“The potion tricked his body into believing it was female. Into growing female reproductive organs.”  
“And... is that just... internal, or -?”  
“I'm still a man, if that's what you're asking.” Ron sounded immensely bitter.  
  
Harry didn't blame him for being touchy about the subject – it was a question everyone was likely to ask.  
  
“Well...” Arthur put his hands on the arms of his seat. “That certainly does make things a hell of a lot clearer. And you two... you're seriously considering making a go of this?”  
“We have to. They won't give me a bloody abortion, so it's have the baby or die trying not to.”  
  
Harry didn't miss Arthur's flinch – the fear which blossomed in him as he thought about the possibilities of what Ron was saying.  
  
“Godric. I just can't imagine you... pregnant. It explains the five sandwiches.” He leant forward and looked over them. “Ah, of course. They all contain pickle. Your mother drove me mad. Every pregnancy – a profound and never ending obsession with many types of pickle. Brown pickle, Piccalilli... then god, she moved on to chutneys... The smell still turns my stomach, truth be told. Funny... that you should be like her.”  
  
They all lapsed into silence until a gurgle from Harry's belly rumbled out.  
  
“I should let you get on. You're both busy.”  
“And hungry,” Ron agreed.  
  
Arthur got up and Ron also rose. Harry looked between them, knowing that how they parted would set the scene for what was to come. He thought for a moment that Arthur was going to close the distance between them and hug his youngest boy, but he was left disappointed. Arthur turned and walked to the door.  
  
“I'll tell your mother in the gentlest way I can. But... I'd steer clear for now. You know what she's like when it comes to Ginny.”  
“I know all too fucking well.” There was that bitterness in Ron's voice again.  
  
Arthur looked at Harry then. “Take care of yourselves.”  
“Take care of him, you mean? You could just say that, Arthur. I will, but not because you've asked it of me.”  
  
As if on cue, Ron suddenly hissed in pain, one hand flying to his stomach.  
  
“Ron?”  
“No idea,” he answered through gritted teeth.  
  
Harry gently touched the small of his back and put his other hand over Ron's.  
  
“What? What is it?”  
  
Ron could only grunt with pain by way of an answer. Harry wished that his first time experiencing paralysing fear for Ron and their baby was not in front of his boyfriend's father. He knew his every move, every breath, was under scrutiny.  
  
“We're going to the hospital,” he ruled. “I'm not taking any chances.”  
  
He knew that Ron had to be in a lot of pain, because he nodded his agreement in one tightly controlled bob of his head, followed by another gasp.  
  
“Let's go.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rock and a hard place, that's where he's lodged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, language, mentioned past infidelity / adultery, Mpreg, frank discussion around termination/abortion, dialogue heavy chapter, themes of suicide.

**Ron**  
  
“No!”  
  
Ron sniffed and folded his arms over his chest, sliding down in his seat. He'd been dreading the conversation he was having.  
  
A month had passed with more vomit and sheer exhaustion, but he'd managed to keep his state a secret from work.  
  
Until he'd passed out during a high-profile meeting. He'd avoided ending up in the hospital again but, suspicions aroused, Kingsley had requested his medical records from them. Even though it was his right to do so, and Ron had signed the contract giving permission for it to happen when he'd first taken the job, it still stung slightly to have been found out.  
  
“How?”  
  
Ron tried not to roll his eyes as he explained: the raid, the potion, the fucking.  
  
“You and Harry? Harry Potter is the father of your baby?”  
“Yup.” Ron nodded glumly. “You've got it.”  
“Merlin's Cock.”  
  
Kingsley slumped back in his chair with his hand over his mouth. His eyes were locked on Ron.  
  
“It all makes so much sense now. Why you look haggard. You're twenty-seven, not fifty.”  
“I look fifty?” Ron asked weakly.  
“Oh, no, no. Of course you don't.”  
  
Ron could have wept at the pitying tone in his boss' voice.  
  
“You don't seem particularly enthused to be carrying a miracle child.”  
“I'm not. But nobody seems to want to listen to me, least of all the hospital so...”  
“You've asked if they can help you... prevent this?”  
“They won't. Said it's too major, too special. They'll only do it if I'm in severe danger and apparently the slight internal bleed I had last month wasn't enough to do it.”  
“Shit.” Kingsley shook his head.  
“Something about my womb putting too much pressure on something and...” He shrugged. “The only way this baby is going away is if I do something myself.”  
  
Kingsley stared at him for a moment longer before picking up a quill. “I've got contacts. Let me talk to them. They might be able to, uh, help.”  
“Why aren't you all gaga over this like everyone else?”  
“I don't want to tell you.”  
“Tell me,” Ron insisted.  
“Well... During the war. I saw the aftermath of a male pregnancy which... had not gone well.”  
“But the hospital said they'd not seen a case since-”  
“Do you really think the Death Eaters would have marched a hostage into the middle of St Mungo's for medical treatment?!”  
  
Ron flinched. “No. Don't s'pose they would.”  
“Quite. I can't unsee it. His body was emaciated. Even when he was dead he didn't look peaceful. It was horrific.”  
  
Looking down at his legs, Ron chose not to say anything. He wasn't sure that his voice would hold up.  
  
“But Ron... now I know this, I can't allow you to keep working in the field.”  
  
He'd been waiting for that but it still felt like a kick in the gut.  
  
“I'm going to put you on office duties only. And am advising you drop one day a week. If you start to feel better you can go back up again... but no beats, no raids, until this is over. One way or another.”  
“What'll you say to everyone?”  
“Well we can ease you into it... they might not even notice. If they do, I'll leave it up to you to decide what you tell them.”  
“Right.”  
“I know it's none of my business, Ron... but what's happening between you all? If you and Harry are having a child, what about Hermione? Ginny.”  
“Separated.”  
“Do they understand?”  
“Hermione does. Ginny... Ginny's on a one woman crusade to make me feel like the shittest big brother in the world. I am, but there's no need to rub salt in the wound.”  
“What about the rest of your family?”  
  
Ron swallowed hard. He wasn't sure he'd ever be ready to discuss the reaction of his family.  
  
Silence. Crushing, painful silence. No knocks on the door, no firecalls, no owls. Nothing since his dad had called into his office.  
  
“Oh. Want me to talk to them too?”  
“No point.” Ron shrugged. “They've always loved her more. Now I've given them a reason.”  
“Ron. Come on. You know that's not true.”  
“If it wasn't, they'd be on the doorstep.”  
“Maybe they just need time.”  
“I don't want them to have time. I don't even want to be pregnant.”  
  
His emotions were suddenly bubbling very close to the surface. He didn't want to let them out in front of Kingsley.  
  
“Why don't you go home? Get some rest. You look like you're dead on your feet.”  
“I am.”  
“Whatever you need, we're here. And I'll ask my friend in high places if there's really nothing that can be done for you on the...”  
“I appreciate it, but I won't hold my breath.”  
“We'll see. Go home. Do something for yourself. This must all be incredibly overwhelming and frightening. I can see what the strain is doing to you.”  
  
Nodding, Ron got to his feet. Ten minutes before he might have protested about being sent home, but he was tired and upset and he was looking forward to sinking into his bed and pulling the duvet over his head.  
  
***  
  
Grimmauld was so strange when it was silent. Ron was lying in bed, holding Harry's pillow to his body, listening to the peace.  
  
He had a strange relationship with silence. Sometimes he loved it and others it drove him mad. The sound of his own breathing could irritate him one day and then soothe him the next. The house was old and creaky and mostly creepy, but he was grateful for it as a sanctuary at that moment.  
  
He allowed himself a deep inhale from Harry's pillow, wishing that he had the real thing instead. But he knew that Harry was buried in meetings all day, which had been the reason he'd been unable to let him know that he was leaving.  
  
Ron was feeling nicely numb following his conversation with Kingsley. He'd been dreading the moment where he would have to confess to his employers – he was embarrassed and a little heartbroken that he'd be rendered mostly useless. A glorified pencil pusher, which he'd always dreaded being. Becoming nobody.  
  
He'd always been terrified of being nobody. With so many siblings there was still the drive to be better, to be stronger, to be more successful than the rest. Ron had felt content that he was doing well in making a name for himself – after all, none of his brothers had been one of a very small number pf candidates accepted into the Aurors without NEWTs and without ever having set foot in an office environment. He had. His Order of Merlin, First Class, sat on his mother's mantelpiece, polished fondly by the woman herself on a weekly basis.  
  
None of his brothers had one of those, either.  
  
 _She's probably bunged it in the bin by now._  
  
That thought sent a wave of sorrow crashing over him and Ron moaned and pulled the duvet right up over his head.  
  
The smell of his own body mixed with Harry's swamped his senses and, comforted for a moment, he closed his eyes and just breathed.  
  
Harry. Always Harry. The smell of him was enough to assuage most problems, Ron found. Except for one major one.  
  
Turning onto his back, Ron looked up at the duvet cover.  
  
Following Hermione's discovery and telling Ginny, he'd tried to give himself time. He'd tried to prod his emotions into seriously considering what was happening, and if it was as bad as he'd been insisting.  
  
As usual he'd ended up more confused than when he'd started and certainly no closer to getting to the bottom of how he really felt about the baby growing in his body. It was clear what his body thought – the aching, the agony of the muscle tearing, the exhaustion and – he was sure he wasn't imagining it – the weight loss. No wonder Kingsley had said he looked haggard; Ron felt it.  
  
He wondered just how bad it would have to get before the Healers decided it wasn't worth risking his life for the pregnancy.  
  
The hypocrisy was driving him mad. If a woman had been so against the idea of bringing a child into the world, it would have been an option for her to terminate the pregnancy. Some people would advocate it.  
  
Despite his attempts to stay calm, he felt he was approaching a crossroads. Either he did something about it, or he accepted it.  
  
The thing was that he was scared of what lengths he might have to go to and really wasn't up for accepting it. He felt as stuck as he'd ever been.  
  
At least something in Harry had started to question whether it was as marvellous as it had all seemed. Ron had seen very real fear in Harry's green eyes as he'd hovered over the hospital bed four weeks previously. Seen the shake of his fingers and the look of relief when the Healers told him he'd done the right thing by taking them there immediately.  
  
He had become quieter in the weeks since. More attentive, more thoughtful. Constantly caring about Ron's welfare, his happiness. Making dinner, being home from work early or on time, making sure that they spent more time together.  
  
Ron didn't know if it was concern that he could be lost, or whether it was just the natural response Harry would have had to fatherhood – with anybody. He could see him being that way with Ginny. Anyone.  
  
And that really helped Ron clear up very little.  
  
He was well aware that by trying to end the life of the child he carried, he'd be putting himself at an extremely high risk. Magic itself dictated that – if he tried to hurt himself, magic would simply save him and logically could prevent him causing any harm to the child.  
  
It was all just too much of a mess.  
  
Tearing the duvet off his face, he let out a growl of exasperation at the ceiling. He was exhausted but not the kind where he would be able to sleep. Lying in bed with everything churning in his brain would do him no good at all.  
  
“Suppose I'll just have to fucking get up then, won't I?” He groused to himself as he rolled out of the bed and steadied himself against the way his head was bound to swim.  
  
When everything stopped spinning, he looked around the bedroom. His stomach rumbled.  
  
Yanking an old hooded jumper of Harry's over his head, he headed out onto the landing, trying to decide what he could cook which would take minimal effort but give maximum pleasure.  
  
 _Well, clearly, you're going to make cheese on toast with ketchup dollops on top._  
  
Satisfied with that, Ron descended through the house, moving softly as not to make any noise. The portrait of the delightful Walburga Black was long gone, but sometimes it felt nice to creep about the house like a teenager again.  
  
He had just made it to the end of the main hallway when the doorbell rang. Ron froze. They had very few visitors and the house was completely hidden from Muggle view, so however was on the doorstep _wanted_ to see him. Or Harry. More likely Harry.  
  
Ron was just considering ignoring it when the bell jangled again, more impatiently in short, sharp bursts. With a sigh he turned and lazily stomped his way to the door. He opened it cautiously, just in case the person trying to get in was a journalist or worse.  
  
They'd not hit the headlines yet, but they were both waiting for it. Any day, someone would notice something not right. They'd investigate. And then the world would know.  
  
He got the shock of his life when he looked up into the eyes of three women he'd not seen for some time.  
  
On his doorstep stood Fleur, Audrey and Angelina – the wives of the brothers he'd not heard from for a month.  
  
“Oh, god, what's wrong?” He breathed, stomach lurching at the possibilities.  
  
“Nothing!” Audrey said brightly. “We just thought that... you know. You might like some company.”  
  
Ron thought very seriously about pretending he hadn't heard, closing the door and running back to bed. Fleur had hold of Dominique. Audrey was at the back of the group with a buggy containing Molly. Angelina had her hand over her bump.  
  
In all of it, Ron had forgotten that one of his sister-in-laws was also currently pregnant.  
  
“Don't panic,” she said gently. “We're not here to do anything but check you're all right, Ron. I promise you.”  
“We brought cake,” Audrey teased.  
“And cuddles...” Fleur pointedly jigged Dominique in her arms.  
  
He loved his nieces. They were an extension of his siblings, whom he loved dearly. He saw himself in them too.  
  
“Come in,” he said finally, stepping back and fully opening the door.  
“Kitchen?” Angelina asked, passing him.  
“Where else?”  
  
Ron helped Audrey get the buggy over the step and then closed the door behind them all, thinking of sprinting away over the square. Then he remembered he was in his pyjamas and a holy pair of socks.  
  
At least they'd brought cake, he supposed.  
  
He kept his walk down to the basement kitchen of Grimmauld slow. By the time he got there, Fleur was pouring the tea, the cake was already on the table and Dominique was toddling around after Harry's cat.  
  
“You look tired.” Fleur sighed at him, putting a mug of tea down for him at the table. “Come.”  
  
She hugged him so tightly that he grunted in surprise. When she pulled back he was horrified to see that her eyes were glistening.  
  
Once upon a time, a hug from Fleur Delacour would have sent him off the planet with lust. Then and there, however, he just wanted her not to cry.  
  
Ron extracted himself from her hands and sat down, gratefully wrapping his fingers around the tea.  
  
“Here.” Angelina slid a slice of cake towards him. “I made it. It sank in the middle, so it's quite shit, but...” she shrugged. “If you're as hungry as I am, you won't care.”  
“I don't care,” Ron confirmed with a smile.  
  
Angelina beamed back at him.  
  
“How are you, Ron?”  
“I'm fine.”  
  
All three women looked at each other, then at him, then someone snorted derisively.  
  
“You're not fine.”  
“No?” He asked, bemused at their insistence.  
“Your life's just been turned upside down. You've got a boyfriend instead of a wife. You're not at work in the middle of the day. No, Ron, you're not fine,” Audrey said ruefully.  
  
Ron had no answer, because she was completely right, so he took a bite of cake instead and hoped that excused him from answering.  
  
“We've been trying to find time to be able to come all week,” Angelina explained. “When it became clear that our husbands didn't have the balls we thought they did. None of us can believe the way your family have dealt with this. You must feel so... alone. And unloved.”  
  
 _Right again. Fucking women. They're always right._  
  
“SO, we thought we'd invite ourselves in, just what you need when you feel several kinds of terrible.” Audrey reached for some cake. “And offer to help – see if there's anything you need and... well. See if there are any questions you need answering. That you might not want to ask anyone else.”  
“And we know that you're our brother-in-law, and that you're probably mortified that everything's happened in this way... but we wanted you to know that we're here, and we want to support you.” Angelina smiled at him.  
  
“Even if eet ees seriously fucked up,” Fleur chimed in with a shake of her head. “Men are not built for eet. Zey aren't.”  
  
She shook her head and picked up the cat to fuss it.  
  
“My brain doesn't even understand how it works.” Audrey pulled a face. “I mean... do you still have your bits?”  
“Audrey!” Angelina cried. “We're meant to be making him feel better, not worse.”  
  
Despite himself, Ron found himself chuckling. He swallowed some more cake and a mouthful of tea before answering. “All 'bits' retained, I promise you. Nothing much has changed but I have somewhere to grow a baby now... not a very big somewhere, and my body hates it, but I have it.”  
  
He looked down at the grain of the wooden table.  
  
“And they definitely won't help you terminate it?” Angelina's voice was softer still. “You've tried everything?”  
“Unless it tries to kill me, they won't.”  
“So much for freedom of your own body,” Audrey muttered.  
“Zey gave me no argument when I asked.” Fleur looked guilty as she spoke. “Because I am female. They gave me a choice and you have none.”  
  
Ron half-choked on his tea. “You... you had a-”  
  
Fleur shrugged her shoulders. “Before we were married. Eet just wasn't safe. Neither of us wanted to hurt a child with zat reality. Never tell your mother.”  
“I wouldn't, even if she was talking to me. I had no idea.” Ron suddenly felt completely unequipped for the conversation he was having.  
  
He seemed to be having a lot of those conversations lately.  
  
Deep in thought, Ron drank some more tea. Around him his sisters-in-law settled and chatted a little amongst themselves.  
  
“Won.”  
“Ron,” Fleur corrected patiently.  
  
Ron turned to Dominique and turned on a smile for her. She was so sweet, with Fleur's big eyes and her father's striking red hair. Freckles dusted the bridge of her tiny nose and her cheeks.  
  
Bill's child through and through, it surprised Ron that she reminded him most of Charlie.  
  
“What, my lovely?” He asked.  
  
She lifted her arms to hint that she wanted a hug. Ron picked her up and settled her in his lap, holding her warm little body against his own.  
  
“Why you not see?” she asked him in her broken toddler language.  
“I've been a bit poorly,” he explained. “I've been in bed.”  
“You poorly?” Her little face fell. “You can have my potion. It make you better.”  
“Thanks,” Ron said gratefully, and kissed the top of her hair.  
  
It was only then that he looked up and realised all three women were staring at him in the same way.  
  
“What?” he asked, though he could guess their answer.  
“You're going to be a brilliant dad, Ron.” Audrey smiled almost apologetically at him. “You are. You're going to love that little girl or boy so much that you won't know what to do with yourself.”  
  
Again, he found himself unable to dispute her statement. He had no doubt that should he follow the pregnancy through, he would love the child he gave birth to. It was whether he thought bringing one into the world with his life so displaced was the right thing to do that was the problem.  
  
“But they're not always like that. Sweet and amenable. Molly is a little bitch,” Audrey went on, casting a wary eye at the buggy where her daughter was fast asleep. “She looks harmless now, but I'm telling you, she's some kind of Harpie sent to torture me. She bites me when I breastfeed her. I mean, for Godric's sake.”  
“She came from Perce, what d'you expect?” Ron answered, before he could help it.  
  
Audrey cackled and tipped her head back. The light caught her nose ring. She was so unlike any of the other wives he'd inherited as a sister.  
  
“At this rate, it won't just be Ron you put off,” Angelina said worriedly. “I mean. George. Fred and George. I'm carrying the actual heir to that insane, completely idiotic dynasty. I don't know what possessed me.”  
  
They all laughed and Audrey cut them some more cake.  
  
“And you.” Fleur looked at him with wide eyes. “You 'ave ze child of ze Boy Who Lived in you. Zat is some weight to carry.”  
  
Ron pretended to pay close attention to Dominique's hair as he thought on that. Harry's baby would likely be as cherished as Harry himself.  
  
“But, your baby too,” Audrey pointed out, smoothing over the moment. “Merlin. Can you imagine it? Harry's eyes, Ron's bone structure and that Gryffindor obstinacy? Watch out Hogwarts, that's all I can say.”  
  
That was a step too far that Ron hadn't known about. He'd barely got past the idea of giving birth, let alone waving his son or daughter off on the Hogwarts Express.  
  
“I've upset you. Shit. I'm sorry, Ron. I didn't mean to... I just... This is so hard.”  
“Not your fault. This is... nobody's fault. Apart from mine and Harry's.”  
“It was always clear you were in love with one another. We just thought you were playing the tragic card, giving up what you really wanted to keep the girls happy.”  
“We are. I mean, we were. Without this happening, we would have selfishly trolled along for years, I think. Nothing would have changed.”  
  
Angelina reached over and touched his arm. “Well, for what it's worth, I'd rather you be happy with Harry than miserable with Hermione out of some sense of duty.”  
“I love her,” Ron said thickly. “I do. I always have. I've just... I love them both. Equally. Always will. And I'm getting over losing her as much as I'm getting over the shock of being pregnant.”  
  
That was too much for Fleur, who burst into tears and tore from the kitchen. Ron tightened his grip on Dominique.  
  
“Mama's sad,” she whispered.  
“I know. I made her sad. I'm sorry.”  
“No. Won. Love you, Won.”  
  
He put his forehead against her hair and closed his eyes.  
  
***  
“Oh my god, Ron. This is amazing!” Harry groaned around a mouthful of food.  
  
He closed his eyes and chewed, making appreciative noises all the while. Ron watched him with a smile on his face.  
  
“Why aren't you eating?” Harry gestured at him with his fork. “This is the best thing I think you've ever made.”  
“Glad you like it,” Ron said.  
  
To appease Harry, he scooped some food onto his fork and put it into his mouth. He was hungry but after standing there and cooking the meal, he had very little interest in actually eating it. He was tired and for some reason, more so than any night thus far, he really wanted a drink.  
  
Wine. Beer. Cider. He would have taken anything.  
  
He knew there were bottles and bottles of wine in the cupboards. Harry kept a well-stocked house for a man who didn't really drink much unless he wanted to cry.  
  
“What's wrong?” Harry asked softly. “Other than the whole baby issue.”  
“I'm fine. I just want a drink is all. And I can't have one, so...” Ron shrugged. “I'm fine. Just glad to be home and that you're here and that it's Quidditch tonight.”  
“Are you sure you're up for it?” Harry questioned. “If you want to stay home and listen to it on the radio, I'm totally game for that.”  
“Harry, we've had these tickets for months. It's a qualifier. We're going.”  
“But your family-”  
“Well, it'll be nice to check they're all still with us, won't it?” Ron said firmly, shovelling more food into his mouth.  
  
Harry stared at him for a moment before conceding and returning to his own food.  
  
Five weeks had passed since Ginny had left Grimmauld and one had passed since Ron's visit from his sisters-in-law. They'd invited him out for coffee since but Ron had turned them down.  
  
It was all a bit too raw from the first visit, and he really didn't want to become their charity case. The sad man sitting with a group of women talking about children. That wasn't what he wanted to become.  
  
That was why he was insisting they go to Quidditch. The last thing he wanted to do was spend the night jumping up and down and being thrown around the emotional roller coaster which came with being an England supporter. But Charlie was over from Romania and Ron was hoping to get to him before the rest of the family did.  
  
 _Probably already too late._  
  
Glumly he swigged back some juice. If they went, at least, he'd feel like he'd achieved something.  
  
“You and that plate should get a room,” he advised, as Harry's groans of pleasure grew thicker and faster. “You don't sound like that even when I do that thing with my tongue.”  
  
Harry burst out laughing and then immediately began to choke on some pasta. Ron watched him gulp down some water before allowing himself an amused little chuckle.  
  
When he finally stopped coughing, Harry said, “You've not done that thing with your tongue for so long that I've forgotten how good it feels and my only pleasure is a massive plate of pasta.”  
“Oh, ouch. I'm sorry, I've not felt much like fucking when going through the amazing few weeks we've had.”  
“Well... I know. But it _has_ been ages, Ron.”  
“And what – you fancy a shag right now? Over the kitchen table?”  
“Wouldn't be the first time,” Harry pointed out, with a cheeky glint in his eye.  
  
Ron grinned to himself. “Well, no. But we're going to Quidditch.”  
“We've got a whole hour, Ron. At a push we could do it three times in an hour.”  
“You've thought about this a lot, I see.”  
“Well, yeah, I love you and you turn me on, and we haven't had sex since that day in the hotel.”  
  
Dropping his fork, Ron could feel the remnants of his good mood slipping away.  
  
“Or not,” Harry muttered, turning red. “Forget I said anything. I'm sorry.”  
“No, don't.” Ron moaned. “I'm sorry. Sorry for turning something good into something bad. I just haven't felt particularly... attractive, or horny, or... anything. I'm just feeling less confident than normal.”  
“Which means your self-esteem is at rock bottom because even after all these years, you still don't see your worth or how much you mean to the people who love you.”  
  
For some reason, Ron felt chastened. He looked down at his mostly full plate and swallowed.  
  
“Dinner was amazing,” Harry said supportively over the table. “Would have moved in with you sooner if I'd known you'd get your mum's cooking talent.”  
“Ginny never cooked for you?”  
“I was the chef in the relationship. When she wasn't here I mainly lived off cereal and beans on toast.”  
“No wonder you always used to eat like you were starved when you came to ours then.”  
  
Harry gave him a sort-of grimace.  
  
Ron knew Harry was having a hard time acknowledging all the things that their relationship and the pregnancy had changed. He didn't like being reminded of what he'd broken, but Ron saw little point in avoiding it.  
  
“Why don't we head off early, scout out some Butterbeer and something to snack on during the game?”  
“Butterbeer? You're so mean.” Ron sighed.  
“I'm pretty sure one Butterbeer don't do anything to the baby. It's barely got any alcohol in it – that's why they let us drink it when were kids at school.”  
  
The thought did cheer him up, Ron found.  
  
“But go and get your coat, all right? It's chilly out and I don't want you getting ill. You're ill enough.”  
“Harry.”  
“Mm?”  
“All this caring. Mothering. Why?”  
“I'm not mothering you!”  
“This morning before you left for work, you left me a cup of tea by the side of the bed _and_ you sent me lunch at my desk.” Ron folded his arms over his chest. “This isn't... we aren't like this, are we?”  
“I'm just trying to be nice. To show you that I love you. I know you're struggling... I thought it would help.”  
  
“Would you be doing any of it if I weren't pregnant?”  
“Yes.”  
“Really?” Ron demanded.  
“If I'd ever got the chance to actually be with you, then yes, I would have fucking cherished you, Ron. I'd be acting no different.”  
“So the baby has nothing to do with it?”  
“Well, of course the baby has something to do with it. How can it not? But primarily it's because I love you and you're finally mine and I get to actually be with you. Live with you. Have my dinners cooked by you. Share a bed with you.” He shrugged.  
  
Ron looked at him.  
  
“This is weird,” he moaned finally. “Being together. For years it's just been stolen moments and a few hours here and there and now... now we get to be together and I'm sitting here questioning your motives like a fucking idiot.”  
“You're not a fucking idiot.” Harry got up and rounded the table, bending down to put his arms around Ron and kiss the top of his head. “You're shattered and grumpy and struggling.”  
“That obvious?” Ron asked.  
  
Harry didn't bother to answer. He kissed Ron again and then pulled away.  
  
“You _promise_ me I can have Butterbeer?” Ron asked over his shoulder. “No takebacks?”  
“No takebacks,” Harry promised.  
  
***  
Harry had been true to his word and Ron had forgotten what it was like to drink Butterbeer when you were miserable. His insides felt thoroughly warmed and he was alternative sips with bites of a massive chocolate bar he'd bought at the same time.  
  
They were sat in one of the boxes mid-way up the stadium, in seats which were better than they usually managed to get. They were a result of some sort of favour Harry had done someone and Ron wasn't going to knock it. They had an excellent view.  
  
On the pitch below them, the referee walked out, the teams behind her.  
  
“Where is everyone?” Harry asked with a frown. “They're so late they're going to miss kick-off.”  
  
Ron carried on eating his chocolate, finding it was really helping him to feel better. Eventually he hit nothing but wrapper and had to screw it up in his fist. He was busy watching the crowd whilst the officials prepared things for the playing of the national anthems. Far below, almost at pitch-level, he caught sight of several redheaded people all in a row.  
  
Throwing himself forward over the edge of the box, Ron peered down at them. His entire family were seated far away from them.  
  
“They're not late,” he said brokenly. “They're just being arseholes. Look.”  
  
Harry joined him.  
  
“Fucking hell,” he swore bitterly. “Wow. They had these tickets before any of this. What's to be gained by doing this?”  
“That's pretty obvious, Harry.” Ron clenched his fists with anger. “To hurt me, and to make their opinion perfectly clear.”  
  
Harry looked at him with wide, innocent eyes for just a second before they became clouded with rage.  
  
“Ron, I'm so sorry.”  
“Don't be. It's not your fault my sister's a manipulative little bitch with them all wrapped around her finger.”  
“Not quite all,” a voice said from behind them.  
  
Ron turned to see Charlie just inside the box entrance.  
  
“Oh Merlin.” Ron scrambled back over the seats to look at his second oldest big brother.  
  
Charlie was mostly unchanged – a good natured, freckled face. Mad hair and strong muscles. Amber-brown eyes and an ever-ready smile.  
  
“I've missed you,” Ron murmured.  
  
Charlie only hesitated a second longer before he threw his arms around Ron and pulled him close.  
  
“Is it true?”  
“What?”  
“All of it. You're pregnant. You're with Harry. You've left Hermione and he's left Ginny?” Charlie whispered, so that nobody would overhear.  
“All true.” Ron tried to smile but knew he failed. “It's true.”  
“Fucking hell, mate, you never take the easy route, do you?”  
“I always try. Never make it.”  
  
Below them the anthem of the opposing team blared out.  
  
“Watch the match with us?” Ron implored, suddenly desperate to not let Charlie out of his sight.  
“Why would I want to sit anywhere else?” Charlie answered pointedly, and took his seat next to Ron.  
“Good to see you, Charlie,” Harry said from Ron's other side.  
  
Ron looked at him – at the look of sheer relief on his face that they might have an ally. Harry's eyebrows rose in question. Ron shrugged and then turned back to the pitch.  
  
The teams were in the air and the crowd's roar had crescendoed around them without his notice.  
  
The referee blew her whistle and Ron happily lost himself in the game. He was totally up for a distraction.  
  
  
  
  
By the end of the game, he had hollered himself hoarse and Charlie was on his feet, leaning over the edge of the box shouting abuse at the losing team. England had won comfortably but there'd been a last minute scare by the opposing seeker.  
  
“It's like he takes it personally,” Harry said with a grin, nodding in Charlie's direction.  
“Well. You know the stories. 'Could have played for England if he'd not gone off chasing dragons' and all that. I reckon he resents them a tiny bit for living his failed dream.”  
“I failed nothing,” Charlie barked, pulling back. “I chose a different path. And I don't regret it.”  
“Not even a little bit?” Harry wheedled.  
“Well, do you regret it? You were also slated for England. Do you regret not going for it?”  
“I never even _thought_ about it.” Harry shrugged. “It wasn't even on my radar.”  
“Whereas you had all those meetings, they were trying to woo you...” Ron reached over and prodded Charlie in the ribs. “You could have been a massive superstar, girl on each arm.”  
  
Charlie laughed then and looked out over the dispersing crowds. A little wistfulness crept into his expression but then he sighed. “No. I'm happy in my little hermit hut and leaves in my hair and dirt forever under my fingernails. I would have made a fucking awful superstar – can't remember when I last washed.”  
  
Ron and Harry laughed together.  
  
“Well, it's getting late. We should go home,” Harry said finally. “And the temperature's really dropped. Are you cold, Ron?”  
  
Charlie looked between them, clearly taken aback at the expression of concern.  
  
Ron tried hard to keep his blush under control and shook his head. “I'm fine, Harry. Don't fuss.”  
  
Harry opened his mouth to respond but seemed to think better of it, and instead got up. Ron and Charlie followed him as they started to make their way down to ground level. Ron's knees were aching by the time they were ten floors down and the throng of people was making him anxious; he always felt like he might fall in the big stadiums.  
  
Gripping the handrail tightly with his fingers, he concentrated on walking safely. Harry and Charlie were in discussion about the game up ahead and he was happy to stay quiet. His throat hurt quite a lot and could feel that by going to the game he'd used up energy resources he really should have kept aside for work.  
  
They were nearly there when it happened. He was suddenly hot all over, and he felt sick despite his potions. His knees might as well have been jelly.  
  
He stumbled, slipping down the few steps between them and colliding with Harry's back.  
  
“Ron? Ron!”  
  
His kneecaps were stinging because he'd landed on them on the hard concrete. Ron closed his eyes as the thrum of the crowd around him grew louder because he was causing a bottle neck. He was mortified and thought he might actually throw up, but all of a sudden he was seized under the armpits and lifted to his feet.  
  
“Come on,” Charlie said encouragingly. “You just need some space and a bit of air, that's all.”  
  
Harry hovered anxiously by his side as Charlie helped him down the last two flights of stairs and out into the large forecourt outside the stadium. Ron made it to a nearby bench before half-collapsing again.  
  
“Head between your legs,” Charlie instructed, putting his hand on the back of Ron's head and gently pushing it down. “Harry, get some water, will you?”  
  
Time seemed to blur; he didn't think there was more than a second between Harry stepping away and returning. He sipped at the water they put in his fingers. After a few more mouthfuls his head started to clear a little and he felt able to sit up.  
  
“Thanks,” he muttered. “Sorry.”  
“Don't apologise, it's not your fault, is it?” Charlie sat down next to him and patted his leg.  
  
Ron wanted to argue, but he'd just caught sight of the fact that he had an audience. Most of them had red hair and freckles. Harry followed his line of sight and then swore loudly. Charlie looked up.  
  
“Well. This is pleasant,” he said sarcastically, folding his arms over his chest. “Ron. Ready to go home yet?”  
  
He dearly wanted to, but was unsure if his legs would hold him up. The last thing he wanted was to collapse again in front of them all – a sparkling demonstration of how wonderful his life with Harry was. He'd hoped the first time said meeting happened they'd both be looking excellent and on top form together.  
  
“Oh, bloody hell,” Harry hissed.  
  
Ron looked up and saw Ginny approaching; she looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp. He knew that face. She was gunning for a fight in a very public arena. Gritting his teeth, Ron forced himself to his feet so that he could at the very least look down at her whilst she laid into him, rather than looking up.  
  
But all she did was come up to him and stare at him from a distance of around five feet or so. Ron waited.  
  
“Evening,” Charlie called dryly. “Got something to say, Gin?”  
  
She kept her eyes on Ron but shook her head.  
  
“Kindly toddle off then, dear.” Charlie stepped closer to Ron. “Go back to your pack of wolves.”  
  
Ron hated the steel he heard in Charlie's voice – he hated the rift he had caused in his family.  
  
“Stop it,” he snapped. “Stop it, Charlie. Don't say things you don't mean.”  
“Ron, they way they're treating you – it's not right! It's not fair!” Charlie protested.  
  
Ron held a hand up to silence him.  
  
“You've got no right to be here,” Ginny spat suddenly. “Why would you come? Why would you ruin everybody's night?!”  
  
And before any of them could act, she came at him and shoved him hard on the chest. He managed to stay on his feet but staggered backwards. It didn't help his disorientation. Ginny advanced again, her wand in hand, a hex on her lips – but Charlie dragged her away before she could cast it.  
  
“Get off, Charlie.”  
“NO!” He shouted forcefully. “Go home, Ginny. Leave him alone.”  
“Why are you on his side?” she yelled, panting hard.  
“Because nobody else is, and this whole thing is ridiculous,” Charlie bellowed back.  
  
Ron looked between them – at their furious faces, two siblings who had always adored one another fighting because of _him_.  
  
It was all too much to deal with. He pulled his wand out and Disapparated.  
  
***  
Teeth chattering, Ron hugged himself a little tighter. He had no idea where he was. He knew one thing, however, and that was that he was not in his right mind.  
  
Standing on a bridge in the pitch black was a giveaway that he wasn't all there.  
  
He peered over the edge, trying to pick out the motorway below. His eyes blurred and he closed them.  
  
Below him a lorry sailed past and he started, finding the noise it created distressing. It was a very long way down.  
  
Swallowing, Ron tried desperately to find a way to make his brain calm down. A car hooted below him and he jumped with shock. He needed somewhere quiet.  
  
He gripped his wand tightly in his fingers and spun on the spot again, begging his mind to take him somewhere peaceful. When he opened his eyes again he was in a wooded area and the smell of rotting leaves was high in the air, given that it was November. He froze for a moment, pausing to listen, but there was nothing but the tick of nature around him.  
  
Ron began to blindly walk, letting his feet direct him wherever they wanted to go. He tripped several times – sometimes managing to catch himself and others landing with painful thuds on all fours. He kept going, even as brambles slashed through his jeans and stabbed his legs. He just kept going.  
  
The trees started to thin and the ground changed beneath his trainers to softer, looser footing. Sand.  
  
Ron looked up and found he as on the edge of a massive lake. It was lapping gently against the shore.  
  
His brain was taking him to places where, should he choose to, he could die.  
  
The realisation turned his legs to jelly again and he sank down on the sand. He didn't want to die. Truth be told, he'd always been afraid of dying. Through the war, through his work with the Aurors – at the heart of every threatening situation had been his fear of dying. He supposed that was why he always fought so hard to win – so that he might not lose in the ultimate way.  
  
He'd had fleeting suicidal thoughts before – mostly from the Horcrux hunt and his time with the locket. It had taken him to a dark place he'd never known of before those months.  
  
Now a baby had taken him back there, and he wasn't sure if he was able to make the final push. If he died, there would be no baby. If he hurt himself badly enough, there might be no baby. If he lived, there was definitely going to be a baby.  
  
He felt lodged between a rock and a hard place. He didn't want to die but didn't want to live his current reality, either.  
  
“Bollocks,” he muttered breathlessly, as he realised one of his hands was rubbing over his stomach.  
  
Without caring who might hear, or how it might sound, he forced himself to scream out over the lake. When he ran out of breath he screamed again, letting his voice warp out of it's usual tone into a rasping growl. It was only after his fifth go that he realised that he sounded like an animal in immense pain.  
  
It wasn't a bad description, he reckoned.  
  
Eventually his shouts broke into dry sobs and he sat there shaking on the little beach, feeling emptier than ever.  
  
“What the fuck do I do?!” He begged aloud, as if someone might answer. “What?!”  
  
Of course there was no reply but the gentle lapping of the water.  
  
Desperation spiked within him and he was on his feet.  
  
The first wash of water into his shoes made him gasp, but he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other. He kept going, taking the water up to his ankles, then his knees, then his hips. He at some point lost traction with the bottom of the lake. Around him his coat was billowing out as water soaked through it. The weight began to pull him down and, in to chin depth and paddling with his feet, Ron inhaled one last time.  
  
There was no question when it actually happened – he slipped beneath the surface like it was the most natural move in the world. He stayed still, letting his bones drag him down. It was so dark he just closed his eyes; there was nothing to see.  
  
His lungs began to ache. He waited for it. Craved it. The ultimate feeling of nothing: death.  
  
The next thing he knew, he was being yanked upwards and, after crashing through the surface in reverse, was flung back onto the beach, landing with a sickening crack from his leg. Dripping wet he stared wildly around, looking for the person who had pulled him out.  
  
The lake was as quiet as it had been when he'd entered the water and there was certainly nobody that he could see.  
  
“H-Hello?” He coughed up some water he didn't remember swallowing.  
  
There was no answer. No footsteps. Only silence.  
  
Ron slumped onto his back in the sand, his chest heaving and his throat stinging. His clothes were sodden and stuck to his body and he was immediately freezing again.  
  
“F-fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._ ” His was whimpering by the end.  
  
He dug his fingers into his pocket, hoping that his galleon hadn't slipped out in the water. He fumbled with it as he raised it to his mouth and whispered “SOS” into the gold.  
  
The emergency portkey activated and he closed his eyes to the blurred colours that the world became when he started to fly.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From bad to worse; Harry's just glad they're both still breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, language, mentioned past infidelity / adultery, Mpreg, frank discussion around termination/abortion, dialogue heavy chapter, mentioned previous suicide attempt, anal sex.

  
**Harry**  
  
“Harry!”  
  
He dropped the mug he was holding in the sink and tore up the stairs to the sitting room. Charlie was getting up from his knees in front of the fire.  
  
“News?” Harry asked, holding his breath.  
  
He'd lunged for Ron to try and grab him before he Apparated away, but he'd been too late. All that was there was an empty space and immense panic.  
  
His temple gave a nasty throb – Ginny had taken his moment of weakness to slug him properly around the head from where he could not see her coming. Charlie had seized him by the arms and taken them both back to Grimmauld before the situation could get any worse.  
  
When they'd got there, Harry had allowed himself a brief moment of rage before concern became his top priority.  
  
“My friend in the hospital said they'd just had an emergency case arrive, an Auror, severely distressed and soaking wet as if...”  
  
Harry had seen Ron throw up so many times he had thought himself immune to vomit, but sick rose in his throat, acid and hot, and he grabbed the back of the sofa to steady himself.  
  
“He tried to kill himself.”  
“We don't know anything for sure. Let's get there and find him.” Charlie grabbed his jacket. “Do they still have the public Floos in the hospital?”  
  
Harry nodded, feeling numb and completely disassociated from everything. He watched Charlie cast the powder on the fire, watched it roar with green flames. He let Charlie push him to the grate and shout his destination. Harry closed his eyes and waited for the spinning to stop. The noise of the hospital met him before the sight. He forced his feet to work make way before Charlie steamrollered him, and not a moment too soon, because Charlie was suddenly there, stepping off the grate with soot in his hair and on his jacket.  
  
He took one look at Harry and started walking, leading him through to the reception and emergency area. Charlie approached the reception witch with a smile on his face and a certain saunter in his gait.  
  
“Hey there, I was wondering if you could help me? I'm so sorry to bother you.”  
  
The witch opened her mouth to respond – no doubt that she was very busy – but then she looked up into Charlie's face and something softened.  
  
“What's up?” she asked, somewhat breathlessly, and Harry would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so awful.  
“Well, I think my brother might have been admitted. I'm really worried about him – could you tell me if he's come in at all? Name is Ronald Weasley, date of birth 1 March 1980.”  
  
Charlie had one elbow on the desk and he attentively watched the witch scanning through the parchments spread out next to her. Harry knew from experience that magic registered patient names on the lists as soon as their magical trace crossed on to the hospital grounds as a patient.  
  
“Ah, yes, here. Ronald Weasley – down in the Auror corridor. Room number three.”  
“Thank you so much,” Charlie said, too sincerely, and then he grabbed Harry by the elbow and started leading him towards the lifts.  
“Do you flirt to get everything you want?” Harry asked breathlessly.  
“Generally. Normally works, too.” Charlie was no longer smiling, however.  
  
They piled into the lift and Harry could have sworn that the descent into the lower levels of the hospital took forever, but finally the doors pinged and trundled open. The Auror wards were quiet at that time of night and Charlie led the way to room number three, where the door was closed.  
  
He knocked loudly and waited. Voices were heard inside and when the door opened, Harry was stunned to see Hermione standing beside Kingsley.  
  
“Oh, thank god, there you are!” she cried, and threw her arms around his neck.  
  
Harry tried to peer past her to look for Ron.  
  
“I'm still listed as next of kin. They messaged me the second he arrived.”  
“And I'm here because I get a notification every time an Auror activates the SOS Portkey function. When I heard it was Ron... I had to come, because...”  
  
Leaving the reason unsaid, Kingsley stepped aside to reveal Ron sitting up in the hospital bed, having a somewhat aerated discussion with a Healer who was measuring his pulse.  
  
“No, no, you're not _listening_ to me. I didn't try to kill myself. Not in as many words. I just... I was desperate. I wanted to cause a miscarriage. None of you would help me abort so I did it my own way.”  
“And walking into a lake, for whatever reason, Mr Weasley, is still a suicidal act.”  
“But I wasn't... I wasn't really trying to...” Ron trailed off as he caught sight of Harry, still stuck in the door way with Hermione hanging from his neck.  
  
“Why don't we... shall we give Ron and Harry some privacy?” Kingsley suggested, and immediately Hermione released him.  
  
She passed out into the corridor with Kingsley, and Charlie followed suit.  
  
“Wait, where are you going?” Harry asked him nervously.  
“Not far. I'm here, Harry. But that conversation...” He looked back at Ron's room. That's a conversation that you deserve to have in private. We'll be just outside, I promise. Be brave, Harry.”  
  
Throat thick, Harry turned to cross the threshold into Ron's hospital room. He closed the door behind him and walked to the side of the bed. There were three Healers in total.  
  
“What happened?” He asked tremulously.  
  
Ron looked at him with apologetic eyes. He was buried under four blankets but Harry still saw his shiver.  
  
“I-”  
Harry suddenly realised he couldn't push Ron to tell him. “It's okay. I don't need to hear it. All that matters is that you're still here.”  
“He nearly wasn't,” one of the Healers pointed out. “Hypothermia, a broken leg, half-drowned...”  
  
Still numb, Harry put his hand on Ron's leg – his hands were buried under his blankets.  
  
“You really tried to do it, huh?” he whispered.  
  
Ron gave a little shrug. “I got desperate. I'm sorry, Harry.”  
“Right.”  
  
Clearing his throat, Harry looked to the senior healer in the room. “How long before I can get him home, please?”  
“We want to keep him in overnight and tomorrow, we're requesting a psychiatric evaluation.”  
“What? Why?”  
  
There was an exasperated sigh. “Your boyfriend walked into a lake and didn't fight for his life. He was happy to let the lake claim it and that of your unborn baby. Who is fine, by the way, considering you've not bothered to check.”  
“Oi,” Ron snapped. “Leave off. He's in shock – that's pretty obvious and I don't have umpteen years of medical training behind me.”  
  
“Shh,” Harry whispered, reaching up to brush Ron's hair from his brow. He followed it up with a kiss to freckled skin and was taken aback by how cold Ron still was. “It's okay. He's right. I'm an idiot.”  
“What, no you're not-”  
“Ron. You tried to kill yourself. You wanted to die rather than have this baby. That's not in any way right. And I didn't see it. I didn't believe you when you told me how distressing you were finding the whole thing. I'm so sorry.” He blinked away the moisture which was pooling in his eyes. “Oh, god, I could have lost everything.”  
  
He grabbed Ron properly in his arms and held on for dear life, stuffing his face in the familiarly soft and beautiful red hair. It was all he could do not to choke.  
  
The Healers chose that moment to vacate and something in Harry's chest loosened as the door closed, leaving them alone.  
  
He pulled back, staring into Ron's face. “We'll get rid of it. Somehow. We'll stop it.”  
“How? And why? You want this baby, Harry, I know you do.”  
“I want you a thousand times more. We've been hiding for so long. I have you now and you're just... you're... mine. And I don't want to lose you. So if it's the baby or you, then I choose you. No question.”  
  
Something in Ron's countenance broke on hearing that. He seemed to sink into his pillows and blankets and become inordinately childlike and vulnerable.  
  
“They say I didn't fight... but I was near the bottom of the lake and something pushed me back out of it. There was nobody around to save me. It has to have been my magic, stepping in at the last minute. Sometimes that happens.”  
“Neville's Uncle making him bounce,” Harry recalled.  
“I'd hoped it wouldn't kick in... I mean... I wanted to die Harry. But not because I didn't want to exist. Because I wanted this all to be over, to have it out of my hands. It was the only way...”  
  
Harry found he had finally run out words, so he kissed Ron on the lips instead and hoped it sufficed. They were saved any further difficult discussions by the door opening and Charlie poking his head in.  
  
“Everything all right?” He asked nervously. “The Healers have said they're keeping you in and something about contacting psychiatry?”  
“Nope. Not happening.” Harry straightened up. “Can you walk?” He gestured to Ron's legs. “We're going home.”  
“Harry-” Ron started to shake his head.  
“We're going _home_ ,” Harry insisted. “You're going to discharge yourself.”  
  
Ron opened his mouth to reply but ended up closing at again, looking at Harry strangely.  
  
“Okay.” He nodded. “Help me.”  
  
***  
“Here.” Hermione handed him a cup of tea which Harry gratefully accepted. “Charlie put some Firewhiskey in it. Watch it doesn't blow your head off,” she advised.  
  
She groaned as she dropped into an armchair.  
  
It was late and everybody was shattered. Ron had consented to some dreamless sleep and was sprawled on another sofa because Harry hadn't wanted to let him out of sight.  
  
“Do you really think you did the right thing, bringing him home?” she asked quietly, looking over Ron's sleeping form. “He did do it, Harry. As much as it hurts and makes my stomach turn, he wanted to end his life to end the pregnancy. He can spin it any way he wants. He attempted suicide.”  
“Please, stop it,” Harry begged. “I can't bear it.”  
  
Hermione sipped her own tea. “You're going to have to.”  
“Yeah, well, not tonight, all right? We've all had enough. I'd had enough before we went to Quidditch – we should never have gone.”  
“Probably not.”  
“Have you actually got anything helpful to say?” he asked spitefully. “Because if not, shut up, Hermione.”  
  
There was a massive intake of breath and he saw her eyes flash – he knew he had invoked the wrath of a massive ear bashing. Before she could release it, however, there was an interruption.  
  
“Harry. Don't be a dickhead. Apologise to Hermione – now,” Charlie said, hands on his hips.  
  
He looked so much like his mother that Harry had to choke back his laugh.  
  
“We're all tired, we're all wishing things were different. We shouldn't fight.”  
  
The burly redhead fell down on the end of Harry's sofa with a massive grunt of relief. He put his feet up on the coffee table.  
  
“Sorry,” Harry muttered tritely to Hermione. “I meant it, though. But sorry anyway.”  
“That's the worst fucking apology I've ever heard.” Charlie laughed and rolled his head to look between them.  
“Best I can manage at this hour. Let's just go to bed. We can levitate Ron. And then tomorrow...” Harry broke off, unsure of what the next day would bring.  
“We'll deal with when we wake up,” Charlie said wearily. “As best we can.”  
  
***  
“Harry!”  
  
The first thing he knew was the sound of someone yelling his name up through the house. He sat up and waited for them to call again, which they did with increased urgency.  
  
Muttering to himself he swung his legs out of bed and reached for his glasses. Ron was still sound asleep, his breathing deep and steady. His mouth was open and a steady trail of drool ran to the pillow below.  
  
Harry picked up a hoodie from the designated chair where they threw all of their clothes. As he shrugged it on he knew it was Ron's from the smell. He paused by the door to inhale from it and look back at Ron in the bed.  
  
 _I almost lost that. Idiot._ Harry kept up the litany of abuse as he made his way down through the house, using his wand to drag all the curtains open as he went. The sky looked horrible beyond the glass. He was yawning as he followed the sounds of voices into the only sitting room they used – the biggest and brightest of them – where he found Hermione down on her knees by the hearth and Charlie hovering nearby. He was wearing an apron.  
  
“What?” Harry asked, unable to keep his irritation out of his voice.  
  
He was still shattered.  
  
“Kingsley,” Hermione said, eyes wide, pointing to the grate.  
“Oh. Right.”  
  
Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Harry got down on his knees and looked at his boss' head in the flames.  
  
“Page three of the Prophet.”  
  
Kingsley looked the most unimpressed that Harry had seen him look in a very long time.  
  
“I've just woken up,” he groaned.  
“I'm well aware, you were meant to be here two hours ago.”  
“Was I?” Harry asked, completely bewildered. He could have sworn he'd managed to set the alarm before collapsing in bed. “Shit, I'm sorry. I'll get dressed, be there in a jif-”  
“Harry.” Kingsley was shaking his head. “You need to look at page three of the Prophet.”  
“Has the paper come?” he asked over his shoulder, to nobody in particular.  
“Uh... yeah.” Charlie grabbed it off the sofa and thrust it at him.  
  
It took Harry a good while to really register what he was seeing.  
  
“Oh _fuck_ ,” he gasped.  
  
 ** _Trouble in paradise?_** _Weasley rifts, secret hospital admissions and divorce. Is there something desperately wrong with our Golden Trio?_  
  
He skim read – the paper knew pretty much everything short of actually printing the word 'pregnant'. They knew about Ron's decreasing health, the shouting match at the Quidditch game, Ron's late emergency admission into St Mungo's and were even spot on with speculating that neither he nor Ron were living with their partners. Someone even claimed to have spotted them both entering and leaving Grimmauld on several occasions.  
  
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Harry spat, chucking the paper on the floor beside him. “How the hell?!”  
“Well, Harry, if you stand in front of a stadium having a shouting match, people will notice,” Kingsley said dryly. “It's not exactly private, is it?”  
“No, but the hospital admissions? The... is someone watching the fucking house?” The thought made him feel sick.  
“Harry. I know this is difficult but really, what did the pair of you expect?”  
“I just hadn't... I hadn't thought about everyone else. Too busy with... family. And propping Ron up.”  
  
It as only then that Kingsley's face softened. “How is he?”  
“He's been asleep.” Harry shrugged helplessly. “I've got no idea what we're going to face when he wakes up. If he's just going to be suicidal. If he'll keep trying. I... I don't know.”  
  
Harry coughed on his emotion and looked away.  
  
“Well. He's to take as much time as he needs. From work, I mean. I won't expect him back at all – until he tells me he's ready.”  
“Okay, great.”  
“And you, Harry. Do you need some time?”  
“I'm fine,” he said automatically, without really thinking about it.  
  
Kingsley hesitated a moment before continuing, “No. Take a week. We'll cope without you. And you stay in touch and if you need more time just let me know.”  
“Why are you being so nice?”  
“Do you think you deserve my anger? Or for me to be cruel about not letting you both process this with time?”  
“No, I just...”  
“Harry. Take the time off. Spend it with Ron. He's going to need you, no matter what he says to the contrary. You'll need each other.”  
  
Harry nodded, almost ashamed that he had thought of rushing straight back to work without considering how much Ron might need him. How much he needed Ron.  
  
“What do we do about the paper?” Charlie asked. “I mean... is there anything we _can_ do?”  
“Perhaps have a look on the security charms on the property. I'm sure there's something... you could even invoke the old Secret Keeper again. I know it's been a few years but worth revisiting. I'm heading over there now for a meeting with the editor – see if I can squeeze some sources out of her. If nothing else, the hospital admissions element is a breach of everyone's privacy. Nobody wants their every visit to the emergency room aired for everyone to see. Too many spells gone wrong, people will be up in arms.”  
“It's weird, don't you think, that they left out the pregnancy? If they know everything else, which they do, why would you leave out the juiciest snippet? I can't believe they don't know.” Harry frowned.  
“Sit tight,” Kingsley advised. “I'll keep you updated. Keep your chin up, Harry.”  
  
With a final nod, Kingsley disappeared out of the grate. Harry got clumsily to his feet and aimed a kick at the sofa. His anger was growing.  
  
“Well, this is fucking shit,” he said.  
“What did you expect?”  
  
All three of them jumped and turned to Ron, who was standing in the doorway in his pyjamas.  
  
“Ron. You're up.”  
“Yeah, I'm up.”  
  
They all stared at him and Ron shifted his weight awkwardly between his feet under the weight of their gazes. Suddenly, Harry knew what he needed – he needed a hug, and a kiss, and to hold Ron properly.  
  
“We're going back to bed,” he announced.  
“I've got to go to work,” Hermione said wanly. “I've got meetings...”  
“You've barely slept,” Charlie protested. “Can't you cancel them? I don't think it's a good idea-”  
“I'll be fine,” she said, shaking her head.  
“To be honest, I've got to get back to Romania myself. I only came over for the game.”  
  
Harry's pulse kicked up a notch when it sank in that they were both leaving them to fend for themselves.  
  
He'd done that a lot in his life, but right then and right there, he just wanted to know that someone else was going to be there when he woke up. He felt woefully unequipped to deal with the situation. Harry suddenly felt ten times more awful about how he'd ignored Ron's anxiety.  
  
In short, he felt like a pretty terrible boyfriend and human being.  
  
“You know what?” Charlie said suddenly, perhaps sensing Harry's utter horror. “I've got some leave. I never take leave. I'm always at work. I'm going to stay for a bit.”  
  
Harry looked at Ron then back at Charlie.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
“Completely, though... do you mind if I stay here? Don't fancy going home much, and not really got the money to pay for a hotel. Whoever said dragon keeping was glamorous never tried to live off the pay.”  
“I wouldn't let you go anywhere else,” Harry said flatly. “Pick whatever room you want and make yourself at home. Whatever you can find to use, use it.”  
“I can bring you some stuff after work,” Hermione offered. “All of your things must be at the Reserve...”  
“That's really kind, thanks, Hermione.”  
  
Hermione took her leave then, kissing both Harry and Ron on the cheek before dashing to the Floo and disappearing.  
  
“You two get to bed,” Charlie gestured at the ceiling.  
  
Harry didn't wait for further permission – he took Ron's hand and started leading him through the house back to their bedroom. When they reached it he found it stuffy and the stench of their stale sweat was overwhelming. He dropped Ron's hand and crossed to open a window, hoping to entice in the freshness of the rain which had begun to fall.  
  
Ron was looking at him with a strange expression.  
  
“Hey.” Harry came to a stop in front of him and put his hands on Ron's waist.  
  
He didn't beat about the bush – he lifted his chin and kissed Ron properly, with grit and feeling and everything he hadn't yet managed to say. He ghosted his hand up and sank his fingers into Ron's sleep-mad hair and held him in place.  
  
Harry kept him there until they were both struggling for breath. When he broke contact he stayed close and put his other arm around Ron.  
  
“Mm. I needed that.” Ron wore the tiniest of smiles.  
“Me too,” Harry breathed.  
  
He turned his cheek and pressed it into Ron's shoulder and couldn't help the desperate little whimper which Ron squeezed out of him by embracing him just as tightly as Harry held him.  
  
“We're in a right old fucking mess, aren't we?” Ron murmured to him.  
“It's not great,” Harry mumbled. “But... I can take anything thrown at me, Ron. Except for the possibility of having to cope without you.”  
  
Heart hammering in his chest, Harry had no idea how it would land. The night before had been all about getting over the shock and the relief that Ron wasn't dead. That morning he was fighting waves of resentment which had crept up on him between waking and returning to the bedroom.  
  
“I can't believe you wanted to leave me,” he whispered.  
“I can't believe I did either. Well. I can. I can't believe I did it, I didn't mean to do it... well, I guess I did but... it wasn't about leaving you. I promise. After all this fucking time, I don't want to leave you or lose you now I've finally managed to get my act together and have you.”  
  
They were rather clinging to one another, Harry realised, but didn't relax his hold at all.  
  
“Are you going to do it again?”  
  
Ron didn't answer as quickly as he would have liked.  
  
“I don't know, Harry. I... it was a moment of being bonkers and I didn't go anywhere with the intention of doing it. My brain kept taking me to places where I could. And I had a good old yell about it before I ended up in that lake. I tried to stop it getting that bad.”  
  
“What...” Harry faltered. He didn't want to upset Ron further.  
“What?” Ron asked, kissing the top of his hair.  
“What was it like? To try and kill yourself?”  
“When I went under, it was just like I'd taken another breath. Easy as falling asleep.”  
  
Harry froze. Ron had no idea he was not the first person to say those words about dying to him.  
  
“Sirius said that to me. In the Forest, after I'd used the Resurrection Stone. I'd asked him if it hurt to die.”  
  
Ron had no verbal response to that, but held on to Harry even tighter.  
  
“So what now?” Harry asked. “I can't watch you every single second of the day, Ron. But if I'm constantly wondering if the next time I'll see you, you'll be dead... that's going to crucify me.”  
  
He heard a few shaky breaths from above and waited.  
  
“I won't do it again.” Ron's voice was suddenly steely. “I promise. I'll come to you. I'll... if I even think about it, I'll tell you – or Charlie, or Hermione. Anyone. I won't, Harry, I swear.”  
“And if you're not in your right mind?”  
  
“You're going to have to trust me. And I get that after last night, you might not want to. I wouldn't trust me. But I'm going to try so hard at being worthy of you, Harry. And you in general, because I've been letting you down for years. No more. I'll go to the hospital. There are charms, you know... which can be put on things to tell you if I'm struggling, or if I'm doing something dangerous. Think of mum's clock.”  
  
Harry finally pulled back a little and looked at Ron. His eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed.  
  
“Do you really mean that?”  
“Yeah.”  
“I just... you've been through something really traumatic and you're probably still in shock...”  
“If I try to go back on it, I expect you to hold me to what I've said. To take me to the hospital when I don't want to go. Force me to talk about things. I need you to do this. I need your help. I...” he broke off, looking thoroughly ashamed of himself. “I can't do it alone.”  
“Okay, okay,” Harry assured, catching Ron's hands in his. “Okay. I understand.”  
  
They stared at one another for a moment, before Harry decided, in the spirit of Ron's openness, to address the hippogriff in the room.  
  
“And the baby?”  
“You want this baby.”  
“I do,” Harry admitted. “It... it makes me so happy, the thought of having a family with you.”  
“Then I want to make you happy.”  
“You can't have a baby because you want to make me happy, that's stupid.”  
“It's not great, but right now it's all I've got.” Ron shrugged. “The only good thing I can see about it. We'll start there. We have to. If they won't help me, and I can't kill myself...”  
“I... look. I'm fully behind you now, Ron. I don't want to lose you over this. If you want to try and invoke a miscarriage, I will help you. I'll do it.”  
  
Ron's expression melted slightly before he threw his arms around Harry again.  
  
“Whatever you need.”  
  
Harry was certain of one thing as Ron kissed him and guided him back towards the bed – he would absolutely not be losing Ronald Weasley over their current predicament. He wanted the baby, and he wanted a family – but Ron was the most important factor in that equation.  
  
Without Ron, he was frightened of what he would become.  
  
***  
“No. You're not doing it right.”  
“Well, I don't want to knock you out.” Ron laughed. “This is truly a stupid fucking game, Harry.”  
“It's been raining for five days. I'm going mad here!” Harry cried.  
  
And he was. They were stood in the longest hallway that Grimmauld possessed and, thanks to some magic and an odd find in Sirius' belongings, they were attempting to play two-man cricket. Ron was in bat and Harry was bowling, and it was as terrible as he had anticipated.  
  
However, they both had smiles on their faces and that was an improvement compared to a week earlier, when they'd woken up to find the situation had considerably worsened as Ron's pregnancy had hit the evening headlines. The reality of the whole Wizarding World having seen their dirty underwear had been understandably a step too far for both of them.  
  
Harry had never been more grateful for Charlie Weasley in his life. Raging, they'd turned on one another and for the first time in nine years, had started apportioning blame for their relationship. Then the baby had come into it, and he'd not seen Ron in such a temper for a very long time.  
  
No saint, Harry had said several things he regretted. He winced as he recalled calling Ron a 'dickhead coward'.  
  
 _Thank fuck for Charlie._  
  
Charlie had waded in, separated the pair of them and generally played the adult.  
  
Standing in his Godfather's house playing a completely rubbish Muggle game he'd not played since he started Hogwarts, Harry wasn't entirely sure he was grown up enough to be having a baby.  
  
“Oh, come on then. Bowl,” Ron called, swinging the cricket bat around. “Why d'you think Sirius had a cricket set?”  
“Probably to annoy his mum,” Harry mused, bringing his arm up behind him and throwing the ball at Ron overarm.  
  
Ron swung and missed and the ball crashed into the wicket they'd stuck to the floor.  
  
“The shittest game in the world, and I still suck at it?” Ron moaned. “What the fuck?!”  
  
Laughing, Harry summoned the ball back into his hand and used magic to put the wicket back together. He took aim, Ron swung again, not only missing the ball but almost hitting himself on the back of the head as he tried to throw the bat down in disgust. Harry laughed harder and threw his arms up in jubilation.  
  
“Why did I let you talk me into this?” Ron huffed. “I'm not even a beater in Quidditch, why would I be able to play sodding cricket?!”  
“I didn't have high hopes from that time we tried Tennis.”  
“I'm not athletic, Harry. We learnt this at Hogwarts. And that was when I _wasn't_ carrying the heir to the Potter dynasty in my skinny carcass.”  
“Ah, now, I'm rather fond of your carcass.” Harry smiled. “Quite a lot.”  
  
He slouched up to Ron's end of the hallway and pulled him close for a kiss.  
  
“Cricket is a shitty game,” Ron muttered hotly. “And it goes on forever.”  
“Well that's kind of the point. You sit in your back garden with the radio on and beer in your hand, and you listen to the most boring game in the world and that's what makes it interesting.”  
  
Ron stared at him before shaking his head. “Your life before magic just wasn't very thrilling, was it, Harry?”  
“I had fun,” he protested. “Well. No. I was emotionally and physically abused by the people supposed to be my family. And I never had anything like fun.”  
“Awh, Harry.” Ron pulled a face. “Woe. All the woe. Here's a tiny violin...”  
  
They were laughing again then, and Harry put his fingers out and tickled Ron's ribs. It wasn't long before the redhead was snorting with mirth and backed against a wall. Harry followed, reaching up to put his arms around Ron's neck and press him back into the wallpaper.  
  
When Ron broke the kiss to pant slightly, Harry inwardly sighed.  
  
Other than kissing and more hugs and cuddles than they'd ever shared before, they hadn't revisited the subject of sex. Every time he even thought about suggesting it, Ron seemed to fold into himself and kill the conversation before it had even begun.  
  
“Let's go out,” he said, as if on cue.  
“Where?” Harry looked out of the window, which the rain was teeming past.  
“Anywhere. I'm fed up of staying in. I'm rested. Cricket aside, I've done nothing for a week and I'm bored. I never thought I'd say this but I want to go back to work.”  
“Really?” Harry frowned. “I'm loving it. I'm going to milk your suicide attempt for all it's worth. You should too.”  
  
Ron looked at him half-incredulously then rolled his eyes.  
  
Harry was struggling to find any other way to deal with it. He didn't want to hurt Ron's feelings, or make true light of it, but as he'd found out after a few Firewhiskies, it was either laugh or cry.  
  
“Well, if I'd known you'd enjoy the fallout so much, I would have jumped off a bridge earlier for you.”  
  
Harry's breath caught in his throat.  
  
“What, so you're allowed to make jokes about it but I'm not?!”  
“I... I guess my brain doesn't always realise that you're joking. You did it once and I'm scared shitless you'll do it again.”  
“I know. But... there's only so many deep and meaningfuls you can have about it.”  
  
He had to concede that Ron had a point. They'd had a lot of soul searching discussions in the past week.  
  
“Sorry,” he said finally. “I just... It's not easy, you know?”  
“I know,” Ron promised, putting his hands on Harry's shoulders. “And I'm sorry. You know that too. And tonight, we're going to go out for food, and then... I dunno... maybe we could...”  
“What?” Harry prompted, when Ron trailed off.  
“Maybe we could go dancing?”  
  
Ron's voice was so ridiculously timid that Harry wanted to make a thoroughly unmanly sound in response.  
  
“You want to go dancing with me?” He pointed to his chest. “Ron. I think you've got that 'baby brain' thing that Hermione was talking about. Neither of us can dance. Neither of us can even jig on the spot.”  
  
Laughing hard, Ron looked much healthier than Harry had seen him look for a good while.  
  
“I know, I know. But... you're my boyfriend, and I want to take you out and have some fucking fun. I can't remember the last time that either of us had fun. Can you?”  
  
Ron's enthusiasm was infectious and Harry grinned up at him. “No. I can't.”  
“Then let's go.”  
  
-  
  
“I really can't remember the last time we did this,” Harry said, only realising how loud he must have been when he saw Ron wincing.  
  
The club was extremely loud in his defence, and he had always been overexcited by environments like the humming one around them. The music was loud and it was all completely anonymous. It was a Muggle club which promoted openness for all sexualities and, before everything had come to a head, it had been one of the only places they'd felt able to be themselves.  
  
Ron sipped at his lemonade and Harry experienced a pang of guilt looking at his rum and coke.  
  
“I shouldn't drink in front of you. It's not fair.”  
“I'm cool with it.” Ron shrugged and put his arm around Harry's shoulder. “I'm not bothered, honestly.”  
  
Harry couldn't help but smile at him and lean in for a kiss, which Ron freely gave.  
  
“This was a really good idea,” he said.  
“Well, I do have them occasionally.” Ron looked out over the sea of moving bodies. “Gotta say, though, this was a lot less tiring when we were twenty-two.”  
“You weren't pregnant then, either.”  
“Thank fuck. Can you imagine me at twenty-two with a baby? I can't imagine me being twenty-eight with a baby, but that's fucking happening.”  
“It might have happened anyway... you and Hermione were going to try.”  
  
Ron hummed as he thought. “I've been thinking. Being in limbo won't help either of us. I think we need to start the divorce proceedings and... assets and stuff.”  
“Have you thought about what you want?” Harry asked, reaching for his drink – it seemed like a conversation he might need a drink for.  
“I don't want anything.” Ron shrugged. “It's all hers if she wants it. The house... our things. She deserves anything she wants.”  
“What about your finances though?”  
  
With a shrug, Ron said, “Well. Obviously I'll need my salary. But our savings... I guess we'll just split them down the middle. It's been a pretty even contribution from both of us. But I don't need it.”  
“We're having a baby though... I'm not sure what it's like in the Wizarding World but for Muggles a lot of people freak out because they don't think they can afford it.”  
“I'm going to sound like a total wanker here, but... Harry – when was the last time you actually saw the bottom of your Gringott's vault? I mean, the actual cement at the bottom?”  
  
Harry couldn't help the fact that even years later, and even though Ron's personal fortunes were much improved from when they were teenagers, he blushed.  
  
“Okay. Point made. I'm minted and our kid is never going to want for anything. Ever.”  
“Well. It might out of principle.”  
“What principle?”  
“Well you can't give a kid everything they want, no matter how much you want to – otherwise they'll just end up spoilt.”  
“Yeah, but we have to give them more than we had – we both had pretty poverty-stricken childhoods. Yours financially, mine emotionally.”  
“And I'm not saying we'll make them sleep under the stairs and clean the house for their keep.” Ron shook his head. “No way. Just... they can't always have everything they want. We have to be responsible parents.”  
  
Harry stared at him for a moment too long.  
  
“What?” Ron blushed.  
“That's the first time you've really spoken about parenthood and how you're going to be with...”  
  
He really was drunk, Harry realised, as he reached out and spread his fingers over Ron's still-flat stomach.  
  
“It's the first time you've done that where I haven't wanted to puke,” Ron admitted with raised eyebrows.  
  
They held each other's gaze for a minute.  
  
“I want to dance with you,” Ron whispered.  
“Then let's dance.”  
  
Harry was unable to keep the beaming smile from his face as he slid out of their booth with Ron's hand in his own.  
  
-  
  
“Jesus!” Harry squeezed his eyes shut and tried to fight through the burn spreading through his muscles. “Ron. Slowly. It's been a while!”  
“Sorry.” Ron's large hands touched to his back and rubbed. “Sorry. Shh. There.”  
  
Harry relaxed a little as Ron slowed the pace right down and switched to something Harry liked to refer to as 'porcelain mode', where Ron treated him with the same reverence with which he'd handle a breakable antique.  
  
It was late. Ron had made sure they both got home safely, despite Harry being drunk enough to treat everyone on the Tube to a rendition of something he didn't even know the name of that had been playing in the club. Then he'd been overly amorous towards the late-night TFL workers at Tufnell Park station as Ron tried to guide him towards Grimmauld, something Harry was sure that when he was sober, he would be teased mercilessly for.  
  
“Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnngh.” His moan was more of a growl as Ron pressed into him. “Yes. Fuck. You're so good.”  
  
Ron didn't answer but gently rolled his hips.  
  
“So good.”  
  
It wasn't graceful, and certainly not their best work, but as they shared their first sexual moment since becoming a fully fledged couple and learning of the pregnancy, Harry held onto his breath and savoured it. Ron was blessed with more length than girth, but that suited him fine, and he willingly took every millimetre of him. One hand suddenly stroked his own cock and Harry jumped.  
  
“I can leave it, if you'd prefer?” Ron teased, pressing open-mouthed kisses all over Harry's shoulders and neck.  
“You dare.”  
  
Ron's breathy laugh hitched as Harry thrust back.  
  
That was all it took to spur Ron into letting go. Harry wasn't surprised – it had been a long time.  
  
“Fuck, Harry. Fuck.”  
  
One of his favourite things about Ron was that in the middle of sex, his filthy mouth grew even filthier.  
  
He spared a thought for Charlie, hoping he was fast asleep and not having to listen to them.  
  
But when Ron adjusted the angle of his hips and started to slam into Harry in just the right spot, all thoughts of Charlie flew out of his mind and he was groaning and shouting and _begging_ Ron for it harder, faster, rougher.  
  
It was perhaps testament to the length of time since they'd last indulged, but just as Harry really started to tingle, to crave Ron slamming into his prostate, it was over. Ron lost balance and grabbed hold of him, gasping his orgasm into Harry's spine. Harry stayed completely still and enjoyed the sensation of shudders passing into his own bones from Ron's.  
  
Ron tended to come hard and long and Harry loved it, listening to the little mewls of pleasure which curled out of his throat; the way his breathing always, without fail, grew raspy, like he'd run a huge distance.  
  
Eventually the tremors stopped and Ron fell silent, but his hand sprang to life, stroking Harry with determined up-and-down movements. A thumb brushed over the head, gently parting the slit enough to evoke a stinging sensation. Harry hissed with pleasure and Ron started to kiss his neck.  
  
“Fuck.” It was more of a whinge than a word.  
  
Ron was still inside him. Harry could feel the natural slide south of come. He was drunk enough to not give a fuck about the fact they'd eaten out and he wasn't in particular control of himself, and the state of Ron would be something that could be sorted out with the wave of a wand.  
  
 _I fucking love being a wizard._  
  
“Oh!” His shout was loud and high-pitched as he lost control, prompted by Ron's choice moment of sucking hard on his earlobe. “Oh, you... fuck... fucking... bastard,” he gasped.  
  
Ron chuckled in the ear he'd abused and gently milked Harry through to the end of his orgasm.  
  
“So, no problem getting it up and keeping it up tonight then,” Harry said, wincing when he slurred.  
“No.”  
  
Ron gently uncoupled from him and Harry heard those precious, wonderful spells which cleaned them both. When he knew it was finished he fell face-first into the mattress with a groan.  
  
He waited for Ron to settle next to him, too drunk to notice that his lover was uncharacteristically quiet. Ron had a tendency to babble after sex with nerves.  
  
“C'mere.”  
  
Harry let Ron roll him over and hold him.  
  
***  
  
“Oh, Godric, not another ruddy owl!” Harry half-shouted.  
“It's bedlam,” his secretary said sympathetically. “What with the flying train incident at Waterloo this morning and the rumours about the attack on the office being instigated from within.”  
“Don't remind me.”  
  
Harry seized his coffee and as he suspected, found it stone cold. Beyond caring he gulped it down and took a moment to breathe.  
  
Eventually he'd had to admit that he was sitting around his house thoroughly enjoying not being at work a little too much. Still, when push came to shove, it had been difficult to cope with the fact that he could no longer watch Ron for most of the day.  
  
Ron had been true to his word and gone to the hospital. They'd decided on Harry's watch to charm, given that he always wore the one Molly and Arthur had given him on his seventeenth birthday. He rarely took it off.  
  
“Shit. Have you seen my watch?” he asked frantically, his stomach lurching when he realised it wasn't wrapped around his wrist. “Oh my god – I need my watch!”  
“Here, it's here. It must have come off when you first got in from the station. I've got to say, it's very odd for a watch.”  
  
He froze. “Why?”  
“Well, it's been pulsing red and buzzing and all sorts. You ought to have it looked at.”  
  
She placed it in his palm and smiled at him.  
  
“I've got to go,” Harry said. “I've got to go.”  
“Mr Potter – what's wrong? You're meeting the Minister in half an hour to discuss the re-writing of the Statute!”  
“Cancel it. I need to go.”  
  
Harry left the office without picking up a cloak or his bag. He broke into a run as soon as he passed the senior management offices and sprinted into the open plan desk area where most of the junior Aurors worked. Eyes followed him as he ran but he ignored every single one.  
  
Ron had been doing relatively well. He'd had a few panic attacks and a few truly miserable days as he tried to come to terms with things, but ultimately Harry had seen some glimmers of life in him again.  
  
He was absolutely fuming with himself for not noticing the absence of his watch. It could have been signalling distress for hours and he wouldn't have known.  
  
 _He could be fucking dead._  
  
“No, no, no, no.”  
  
He finally managed to break free of the Auror department and burst out into the wider corridor to get to the lifts – but he was forced to skid to a halt immediately.  
  
Ron was sat slumped at the bottom of a wall looking many things, but mostly anxious.  
  
“Why didn't you come?” he whispered brokenly. “You promised me that you'd always come.”  
“My watch fell off,” he said apologetically. He threw himself on his knees in front of Ron. “What's happened? What's gone on?”  
“I just... got angry. Then I got upset. Then I got violent.” He held up one hand which had bloodied knuckles and ripped skin. “And it just went round and round in circles. When you didn't come... I had to come to you. I need you.”  
  
Harry held his breath. He felt awful.  
  
“But I couldn't get through the doors.” Ron looked down at his knees. “I couldn't face seeing them all and them seeing me... the state of me.” He shook his head in disgust.  
“Did you... did you do anything other than punch the wall?” Harry asked, gently picking up Ron's hand and peering at it.  
  
Ron stayed tellingly quiet and Harry broke into a cold sweat.  
  
“Ron?”  
“Fell down the stairs.”  
“Fell or threw yourself?”  
“Fell whilst thinking about throwing myself.” Ron grimaced. “Magic strikes again though. I bounced.”  
“Do you think you should go to the hospital?”  
“No.”  
“Well, maybe just to be sure-”  
“No, Harry, I'm fine.”  
  
Harry sat back on his heels and narrowed his eyes. “You told me to take you when you didn't want to go. I've already failed you once today by losing my fucking watch, I'm not going to fail you here. We're going to the hospital to get you looked over, all right?”  
  
He raised his eyebrows, daring Ron to argue with him. Ron clearly thought better of it as he nodded in defeat.  
  
“What set this off?” Harry rubbed his palms over Ron's knees.  
  
Ron sighed and pulled something out of his pocket with his good hand. “Got this just after breakfast.”  
  
Harry took the parchment off him. “The appointment with the mediator. You knew about this? You booked it!”  
“I know,” Ron said miserably. “I just... seeing it there, in print. It just really upset me.”  
  
Harry looked at the letter.  
  
“And then once I'd done with that barrel of laughs, this came.” Ron tugged another letter free and shoved it in Harry's direction. “It's from mum.”  
“Oh, shit.” Harry shifted slightly as his legs started to go numb. “What does it say?”  
“A lot of nothing. Just wants me to see the error of my ways and go back to Hermione, so that you can go back to Ginny and everything can carry on, just as before.”  
  
Harry skim-read the letter, well aware of the fact that there was a growling scowl on his face. Molly's letter was one of the cruellest things he'd ever read, and he'd seen most of Rita Skeeter's work.  
  
He had to stop when he reached the part about Ron being 'such a disappointment.'  
  
“This isn't on,” he fumed. “How dare she?”  
  
Ron shrugged. All traces of the light which had crept back into his expression since his dip in the lake had completely gone.  
  
“No wonder you got angry and upset,” Harry said with a sigh. “Come on. Let's get you to the hospital and sort out that hand.”  
  
-  
  
Fist clenched hard, Harry knocked hard on the back door of The Burrow. His brain was telling him to turn around and leave, and that nothing good would come of a conversation when he practically had smoke pouring out of his ears.  
  
He'd taken Ron to the hospital and got the all-clear. What he'd not been expecting was a scan where they could actually hear the baby's heartbeat. Whilst he'd found it incredibly moving and exciting, anger had risen him recalling Molly's letter.  
  
“Harry! This is a surprise!” the woman herself proclaimed on opening the door. “Come in.”  
“No, this won't take long.” He stepped back to regard her properly. “I just wanted to say, if you really can't support us, please just stay out of touch. Ron really didn't need this today.”  
  
He shoved the letter at her.  
  
“It's bad enough that you've treated him so badly, but that you'd actually commit those thoughts to a letter? He's pregnant, Molly, and so unstable. I'm on suicide watch nearly every single day. And you sending spiteful bollocks like this is just so unfair. You're his mother and he _needs_ you, because he's scared and lost and you lot acting so bloody stupid is making it ten times worse!”  
  
He sucked in a breath and prepared to carry on, but Molly was looking at the letter in her hand.  
  
“I didn't write this.”  
“What?”  
“I would never, ever write a letter like this to one of my children. Not even Percy, during the war...” she shook her head, looking horrified. “Ron read this? He really believes it was from me?”  
“Are you surprised? Considering you've basically abandoned him?”  
  
Molly opened her mouth to respond but Harry carried on.  
  
“We heard the heartbeat for the first time today, Molly. That's one of your grandchildren and whilst it might not be coming from the child you expected it to, it's still your grandchild. If you want a chance of being involved in its life, then get your act together. It's... it's only going to have one set. Just you and Arthur. I...”  
  
He stopped then, because his throat was tight thinking of the fact that his own parents would never meet their grand son or daughter. It was something that, in everything, he hadn't thought of. Harry absent-mindedly reached up to rub his chest.  
  
“Harry?” she asked uncertainly.  
“I've got to go.” He shook his head. He looked at the letter in her hand. “If you didn't write that, then please try and keep your only daughter in line, Molly? Ron is so fragile and anything could cause him to break. As I told Arthur, the pregnancy alone is enough to kill him. It's bad enough without him trying to kill himself. Again.”  
“What do you mean, again?” she whispered, suddenly looking devastated.  
  
Harry looked at his feet – he'd not meant to tell her everything. Ron had asked him not to.  
  
“I'm going now,” Harry advised. “Don't turn up out of the blue, I'll need to prepare him for it. And tell Ginny to sod off.”  
  
He turned on his heel and marched over to the boundary so that he could Apparate. On his last glance up, Molly was leaning against the door frame with her hand over her mouth.  
  
He couldn't feel guilty. He felt the Weasleys had turned their back on Ron when he needed them the most – they'd turned their backs on both of them.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's not ready to change his mind or forgive, but he's addicted to making Harry happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, language, mentioned past infidelity / adultery, Mpreg, feels.

**Ron**  
  
“Ron? Where are you? I need alcohol, food and a really, really long bath in that order – Merlin's fucking arse, what the hell?”  
  
Looking up from his spot at the kitchen table, Ron could feel himself going red. He wasn't surprised at Harry's shout. The whole room looked like a bomb had gone off in it. A bomb made of icing, cake mixture and flour.  
  
“So. Is this all you've done today, or is the living room covered in puréed fruit?” Harry dropped his bag and reached up to rub his neck.  
  
Ron sighed. Harry had been a foul mood for days – or at least that was what it had felt like. The situation at work was ugly thanks to more rumours and another curse sent to the department which had luckily been contained before it could do any damage. People were starting to question the integrity of the leadership and the efficiency of the rest. The Prophet had run some stinging headlines, all of which Ron had a nasty feeling had something to do with the way Kingsley had come down on them over how they'd handled the outing of his pregnancy and relationship with Harry.  
  
The result was a constantly weary Harry with an increasingly fraying temper.  
  
He'd meant to clean the kitchen up long before Harry came home, but he'd been overcome with dizziness and lethargy midway through his task and he'd fallen asleep on the sofa for a good few hours. When he'd woken up, feeling so sick that he'd chugged back an entire vial of potion, the sky had been darkening beyond the windows.  
  
The December outside was freezing cold and bleak. He'd spent the time ever since trying to warm up.  
  
“How many jumpers are you wearing?” Harry asked suddenly.  
“I think three.” Ron eased up, trying not to grunt at the pain in the small of his back. “And two pairs of socks.”  
  
Harry looked him up and down as he stepped out from behind the table and, much to Ron's relief, he started to laugh.  
  
“You look proper cute,” Harry said, snorting slightly. “What are you doing?”  
“It's Charlie's birthday. 12 December. And it's his last night before he goes back to Romania and I wanted to do something nice. So I made a cake. Thought it'd be...”  
  
Suddenly feeling embarrassed, Ron folded his arms over his chest and looked down at his feet.  
  
“Ron. That's really sweet.” Harry picked up an empty bowl from the table. “And now I get to do this.” He swiped a finger around the glass and stuck it happily in his mouth.  
  
He sighed, letting the tension go from his shoulders and expression. He looked happy.  
  
“I don't really know how I made so much mess.” He shrugged. “But, look – I made a thing of beauty!” He waved at the cake, fully iced and only slightly leaning to the left.  
“Oh, god, I want that in my face!” Harry moaned.  
  
Grinning, Ron pulled his wand out and attempted to cast a spell to clean up the mess. All that happened was a spoon flew into the air and immediately fell to the floor again. Frustrated, he cast again, trying to concentrate on the magic.  
  
The bowl Harry was holding suddenly jerked out of his fingers and soared across the room, missed the sink and smashed into the splashback.  
  
“For fuck's sake,” he hissed, glaring down at his wand as if it had betrayed him.  
  
In all honesty, it felt like it _had._  
  
“Not a problem,” Harry said calmly, getting his own wand out.  
  
Around him, the kitchen burst into life with things zooming to the sink, surfaces being cleaned and a broom sweeping the floor. With a little huff, Ron put his wand away.  
  
“Sorted,” Harry said smoothly. “Now, come here and give us a kiss.”  
  
Ron happily did that, eager for any bodily contact he could share. The past week had seen him grow increasingly clingy, wanting to have his hands on Harry as much as possible in a completely non-sexual way. He just wanted to be close to him – smell him, feel him, lean against him.  
  
It was that which he did as Harry's arms looped around his middle, even though Harry was shorter and half-staggered under his weight. Ron couldn't help happily rocking him from side-to-side.  
  
“Missed you,” he mumbled into Harry's shoulder.  
“I missed you too. Work sucks. Want to quit.”  
“You don't want to quit, you love your job, and when it all settles down you'll remember that,” Ron said supportively, rubbing Harry's back. “You will. You were made for this. You're the best Auror they've got – maybe ever had.”  
“You have to say that, you're my boyfriend.”  
“When have you ever known me to use flattery where it wasn't due?”  
“Ha! The other week in the supermarket when you wanted the last pack of doughnuts. That old woman in no way reminded you of your grandmother.”  
  
Ron grinned to himself – Harry did have him there.  
  
“Ron?”  
“Mm?”  
“Don't freak out?”  
  
He pulled back, holding his breath. “About what?”  
  
Harry blushed a very specific shade of pink and chewed on his lip.  
  
“What?” Ron demanded. Perhaps he had flour in his hair.  
“You've...” Harry reached out and tugged up his three jumpers. “You've got a bump, Ron.”  
  
Fear paralysed him as Harry's fingers touched to the skin of his stomach. When he looked down he didn't have to squint to see it: a very slight – but definite – curvature of his previously flat belly. Harry looked up at him with wide, excited eyes.  
  
“Fuck,” Ron muttered to himself, jerking away from Harry's hands.  
  
He stormed out of the kitchen, ignoring Harry's calls for him to come back. He jogged up the stairs and made himself dizzy but resolutely kept on to their bedroom, where he threw open the door with a crash and headed straight for the en-suite.  
  
He yanked up his jumpers again and turned sideways, scrutinising himself in the mirror.  
  
Ron had been _dreading_ the moment upon him. Every time he'd considered when he would start to 'show', he'd had a panic attack. So he'd stopped thinking about it.  
  
He felt completely blind-sided even though he was three and a half months pregnant. There it was – the physical proof of his biological abnormalities. His freakish reality.  
  
“Shit,” he hissed, as tears rose in his eyes.  
  
Blinking furiously on hearing approaching footsteps, Ron tried hard to reel it back in. He didn't want to upset Harry.  
  
“Hey,” Harry said softly, leaning against the door frame. “I'm sorry, Ron.”  
“Why?” He sniffed hard and dropped the hems of his jumpers. He flapped his hands a bit and then clenched them into tight fists. “I'm fine.”  
  
Harry let out an exasperated sigh and stepped in front of him. He reached up and gently wiped the tears which had spilt onto his cheeks away. “You're not fine.”  
“It's just a shock, is all. It shouldn't be but it is.” He swallowed, trying to kill the burning low in his throat once and for all. “You've no idea how fucking weird it is to see... that.”  
  
Nodding, Harry looked him in the eye.  
  
“One word, Ron. One word is all it takes and this ends. Say it.”  
  
Ron didn't know why he was holding back. He'd thought early on that if Harry suddenly came round to his way of thinking, he'd snap his hand off at the chance of getting rid of the pregnancy and then moving on. On his rougher days he was still sorely tempted to. On the days where he wasn't constantly nauseous, dizzy or sweating like a pig, though, he sat under a cloud of doubt.  
  
He didn't want to have a baby through his current means, but he also didn't want to force Harry into losing the unique and unexpected opportunity for a family with someone he loved. Ron loved Harry. Harry loved him.  
  
He'd started to question beyond the unnatural, forced pregnancy that he hated. Would it really be so terrible, he wondered, to have a tiny life from it as long as it was healthy and happy? And if he, against the odds of the literature provided, could make it through the whole mess relatively healthy and still breathing?  
  
The answer which kept popping up in his mind was 'no'. And he really fucking hated that, because he hated to reverse his opinion on anything. He hated proving people right. He didn't want the Healers to look at one another with that look in their eye, the look of relief that their patient had finally come to the same conclusion that they had – that it was a good thing.  
  
Subconsciously one hand rubbed over his stomach. Somewhere below them Charlie's shout heralded his arrival home.  
  
“We should go down,” he murmured. “If we want a chance at that cake.”  
  
Harry looked at him a little too long for Ron's comfort.  
  
“You go, I'm going to have a shower and get changed. I won't be long.”  
  
The smile Harry gave him then was horrifically forced. Ron could have stood there and cried all over again at the way that green eyes seemed to cloud with an emotion Ron wasn't sure he understood.  
  
“Harry-”  
“Ron, do me a favour and go away,” Harry choked. “Please.”  
  
Torn, Ron hesitated. Nearly ten years post-war had taught him that when Harry asked to be alone, he meant it. He had been forced to learn to trust Harry when it came to needing solitude. He recalled the shouting matches they'd had at the beginning, emotional and teeming with teenaged bullishness and pure rage from the losses they'd sustained.  
  
“You know where I am,” he said finally, and stepped out of the bathroom.  
  
He closed the door gently. He waited to hear the shower turn on before he moved away and finally exhaled hard.  
  
“Fucking hell,” he whispered.  
  
He hung around for a bit, moving to Harry's dresser and pulling out a clean ensemble for him. He laid it all out on the bed and pulled the curtains.  
  
Ron then went slowly down the stairs, holding firmly onto the bannister because his head was still swimming at random moments. He heard voices in the kitchen and hesitated, having expected to find Charlie alone.  
  
He paused in the doorway to the kitchen, finding it sparkling clean and warmer than he'd remembered. To his very great surprise, Charlie was pouring out two glasses of something that looked like purple brandy and jabbering away in fluent Romanian.  
  
“Charlie.” The man that spoke had a very thick accent and was clearly a native.  
“What – oh! Hey!” He beamed in Ron's direction. “Ron, this is Nicolae. Nicolae, Ron.”  
  
Feeling awkward, Ron folded into himself and slouched down to ground level. He hoped he'd not have to shake hands – for some reason, the only people he could bear to touch lately were Harry and Hermione. Luckily Charlie's friend chose to simply wave instead.  
  
“I made you a birthday cake,” Ron said shyly. His leaning creation looked a lot poorer than he'd first thought. “And a goodbye cake. Two cakes in one.”  
  
Charlie's face lit up when he located the cake and headed for it. “Wow, Ron, this is pretty awesome! Looks just as good as one of mum's.”  
“It's her recipe. Well. Nan's recipe really.” Ron had found it baffling that he seemed to be having trouble remembering his own name, but the ingredients and method of the cake he'd made as a child were crystal clear. “Like she used to make with buttercream icing and the-”  
“Chocolate buttons,” Charlie finished for him, his voice elated.  
  
He looked immensely touched.  
  
“I remember her chasing you out of the kitchen,” Ron said by way of an explanation. “Because you always wanted to eat the buttons before they made it onto the cake.”  
“And when she died I couldn't look at a packet of fucking Chocolate Buttons for months.”  
  
He picked one off the cake and popped it into his mouth with a grin.  
  
“I'm glad you like it.”  
  
Charlie bounded across the kitchen and grabbed him in a massive bear hug. Ron grunted in pain but hid his pleased smile in his brother's shoulder.  
  
“Can we have some now?” Charlie asked eagerly. “Where's Harry?”  
“Just having a wash, he'll be down in a bit.” Ron found it easy to smile for Charlie. “He won't mind if we start without him. Those look suspiciously like pre-drinks...” He nodded towards the two waiting glasses.  
“Yeah. I didn't know Nicolae was coming to get me. The Reserve wants me to do some work on my way back. They want us to stop over in Germany, they've secured an egg and they want us to take it in for them. Then they want us to go up to Belarus to harvest some plants which we've completely run out of.” Charlie's enthusiasm grew with every word out of his mouth.  
“Sounds like a fun trip home,” Ron offered, pulling a knife out to cut the cake.  
  
“Yeah. Can't say I wouldn't rather be staying here though.”  
  
Ron's throat tightened at the protective look Charlie was wearing. He was going to miss his brother so much. He'd been a sort of protective balm over the past weeks, soothing both Ron and Harry into living with one another. He told them when they were being unreasonable and outright idiots. He was the calm voice of reason. He cheered them both up immeasurably.  
  
“So we were going to have a drink here, then go out for a bit. Early night though, fucking five we've got to get going.” Charlie sipped his drink. “Do you think Harry would mind if Nic stayed here tonight? The Reserve'll pay for a hotel but it seems a waste...”  
“I'm sure he won't mind. Do you want me to make up one of the beds?”  
“Uh... no. We'll be fine,” Charlie said quietly, smiling down at his glass.  
  
Ron didn't ask him to elaborate further. It was none of his business who his brother was sleeping with – he was about half an hour short of being officially thirty-five; he could do what he wanted.  
  
“Well, I hope you have a good night.” He sank the knife into his day's work and tried not to think any more about Charlie leaving. “Where're you going?”  
“Just to the Alley. I... Bill's meeting us there for a drink.”  
“Cool. That'll be nice. Say hi for me.” Ron tried his hardest not to sound too bitter.  
  
He handed both of them a plate of cake and mustered another smile for them. His mood was plummeting with alarming speed and he was worried that Harry hadn't yet appeared.  
  
“This is amazing!” Charlie proclaimed through a mouthful of cake and Nicolae nodded in agreement. “Oh, Merlin Ron. This is your new calling.”  
“What, making cakes which add to your celebration with a will-it-won't-it-collapse surprise?”  
Ron tentatively put some crumbs into his mouth. “Yeah, okay, that's good.”  
  
“Of course it is,” Harry said, appearing in the doorway. “You made it.”  
  
Ron watched him approach, his damp black hair curling against his throat and forehead. He was wearing the clothes Ron had laid out for him. His eyes were rimmed red.  
  
“Happy Birthday Charlie.” Harry clapped him on the shoulder on the way past, then rounded the table to cut himself some cake. “Having a good day?”  
“Yeah not bad thanks. Just finishing this then we're off out. Harry, this is Nicolae.”  
“Charlie asked if we wouldn't mind Nicolae staying here tonight after they've been out. They've got an early start.”  
“Sure.”  
  
Harry shrugged and bit into the cake. “Fuck, Ron, that's good.”  
  
Charlie hummed his agreement as he polished off the last of his slice and put his plate in the sink. He wiped his hands on his jeans and downed the rest of his plum brandy.  
  
“Don't wait up?” He advised with a grin.  
“We won't. I'll set my alarm for half four?”  
“You don't have to wave me off, Ron-”  
“We'll be up. Whether you want us to be or not.”  
“Right. Well. Cut the rest of that cake up and put it where I can't forget it because that baby's going to see me across Europe.”  
  
Ron felt like sitting on Charlie and never letting him leave, but all too soon the front door was closing and they were alone again. Ron looked anywhere but at Harry. Harry stood eating his cake slowly.  
  
Ron wanted to ask about what had happened in the bathroom, but as before, time had taught him that Harry would speak only when he was ready. He knew pushing that wasn't going to cheer either of them up. The silence stretched on and on until it became unbearable, and Ron clutched at straws for something to say.  
  
“Be Christmas soon,” he said finally, starting to slice the rest of the cake so that he could box it up for Charlie. “Do you remember how good we made the house look when we stayed here at Christmas when we were fifteen? Just after Dad got munched on by Nagini?”  
“I remember,” Harry said softly. “Sirius was singing Christmas Carols. Even Remus was smiling.”  
  
 _So that's it._ Harry didn't tend to refer to his godfather or Remus by name unless he was feeling particularly melancholy about things.  
  
“We should decorate it,” Ron suggested. “Get a Christmas tree, bung a load of fairy lights everywhere. Paper chains. Mistletoe.”  
  
Harry made an unimpressed grunting noise and shrugged his shoulders.  
  
“Inject a bit of colour into the old place.”  
  
Ron tried to summon a plastic box to put the cake in, but nothing zoomed into his fingers when he said the incantation. Nothing happened the second time, either. In the end Harry crossed the kitchen and brought it to him.  
  
“It's really good cake,” Harry said.  
“Thanks. He seemed to like it.”  
“I'm going to miss him.”  
“Me too. I don't want him to go.”  
  
Harry looked at him. Ron knew they were both thinking the same thing.  
  
Ron pressed the lid onto the box.  
  
“How about an early night?” he suggested, reaching up to stifle a yawn.  
  
He'd done nothing all day. The hospital had put him on a few days' bed rest which he was choosing to ignore, but work had sent him home following a mini-meltdown about a missing report and he couldn't say he was too distraught about it.  
  
He suddenly felt as though walking back into the office would be hell – they would all see his bump under his robes. Everyone would see it.  
  
Ron took a steadying breath.  
  
“I'm going to bed then.”  
“I think I'm going to stay up for a bit.” Harry kissed him on the cheek. “My brain's still buzzing from work and I promised I'd look over the regulations from the last World Cup before the meeting tomorrow.”  
“Right... okay.”  
  
Harry stepped away and Ron watched him pour a glass of Plum Brandy from the bottle that Charlie had left behind.  
  
“That stuff's lethal,” Ron offered weakly. “I got married on that shit. It's a good thing we had that photographer to provide the memories afterwards.”  
  
He realised too late that bringing up Hermione and his soon to be over marriage was a poor choice for many different reasons. Harry just nodded and sipped his drink.  
  
“Harry...” Ron looked at him nervously. “Are you actually going to work? Or are you just going to get drunk?”  
  
Harry looked like he might argue, might tell Ron scathingly that he was imagining things.  
  
“I'm going to get drunk,” he confirmed with a little sniff.  
“Well.” Ron rolled his head in a circle and stretched his shoulders and arms. “Normally you know I'd be right there, by your side, matching you glass for glass. But I can't do that, so...” He managed to successfully summon the brandy bottle. “I'm your built-in friendly butler, and your personal servant for the evening.”  
“Ron...”  
“Harry.”  
  
Ron knew how to be forceful when he needed to be. He'd always had power over Harry to some extent – it came with being the best friend, the comic relief. When he was serious and showed it, Harry _knew_ he meant it. His work as an Auror had made him a powerful negotiator. His stares had at one point been legendary amongst the Juniors.  
  
Something in his chest ached for the career he had carefully tended to, nurtured.  
  
 _Not now. **Harry.**_  
  
“Come on.” He held out his other hand to Harry whilst giving his best 'don't argue' look. “You've got some serious drinking to do.”  
  
***  
  
“You're sure about this?” Harry muttered out of the corner of his mouth.  
  
It was a bit late if he wasn't, Ron surmised. Nobody had been more stunned than him when his mother's owl had knocked on the window with a letter which he wasn't going to admit to anybody had made him snivel like a baby.  
  
Harry had told him she hadn't written the first letter which had said so many hurtful things. The second was so clearly from her, and her heart, that he'd not doubted it for a second.  
  
He still had serious misgivings, and more than a healthy amount of resentment, but he was there on the doorstep of The Burrow on Christmas day. They weren't staying for the whole day, but three hours would be enough. Enough to know whether he would be able to get past his family's silence and the sheer pain of having to get through the most difficult time of his life without their support thus far.  
  
“Yup,” he answered firmly.  
“Code word for 'get me out?'” Harry asked.  
“Abort.”  
“That can't be the codeword, it's too obvious!”  
“I dunno, then. Troll farts?”  
“It has to be something you can say without anyone cottoning on! Christ, anyone would think you've been working as a cleaner for nine years rather than in law enforcement.”  
“Shut the fuck up, I have baby brain,” Ron huffed. “Fine. 'Puke.' That's believable.”  
“Better,” Harry agreed, then creased up laughing.  
  
He leant over and kissed Ron on the cheek. “Merry fucking Christmas, freeze your arse off on the doorstep why don't you?”  
  
Ron rolled his eyes but let Harry see him smirk.  
  
Harry had not been at all forgiving about the letter. He hadn't even wanted to come. Ron had almost had to beg him.  
  
He opened his mouth to beg a little more, but the door finally opened, revealing his dad with tinsel around his neck and a drink in his hand.  
  
“Molly! They're here!” he shouted – Ron thought he sounded slightly hysterical. “Come in, come in, don't stand out there. Why didn't you just walk in?!” he demanded of Ron.  
  
He didn't give Ron a chance to answer because he grabbed him in a one-armed hug which knocked the wind out of his son's lungs.  
  
“Ow, Dad,” he gasped, as pain shot down his spine and into his buttocks.  
“Okay?” Harry asked with a frown.  
  
Ron had to hold his breath as he nodded, in agony, and stepped back from his dad.  
  
“Oh, Godric, I'm so sorry, Ron-”  
“It's nothing,” he lied.  
  
His dad grimaced at him in apology. Ron shook his head and smiled.  
  
He was determined that the next three hours would go well.  
  
“We've got a few extra visitors we weren't expecting,” Arthur said, glancing over his shoulder. “Andromeda's here, with -”  
  
“HARRY!”  
  
Ron leapt out of the way as a blur of a child shot past him and collided with Harry's midsection. The child had at that moment bright purple hair and a tiny Weasley Christmas Jumper on.  
  
He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Teddy, but he seemed to have grown another foot. He would be willowy like his dad before him. Everyone always said that Teddy looked like his mum, and of course he did given the Metamorphagus in him, but all Ron ever saw was Remus. Kind eyes, a kinder smile, a fleeting look which hinted to the depth within.  
  
There'd been no question when the dust of the Battle had settled that Teddy would be raised by Andromeda. The witch had lost her husband and only daughter and nobody – certainly not Harry, the only one with any kind of claim on the boy's future – wanted to part her from all she had left of them.  
  
It had been a crushing blow to everyone when Andromeda decided after Teddy's seventh birthday that she wanted to move to the warmer climes of the continent. After the initial shock had been processed, everyone had decided all it meant was that to see their favourite boy (given that thus far none of them had managed to produce a boy of their own) they'd just have to suffer a little Mediterranean sunshine to do so.  
  
Work and choosing to spend every free bit of time he could grab with Harry meant that Ron hadn't seen him as often of late as he should. The way that the nine-year-old was mugging Harry for every last bit of affection made him feel guilty.  
  
“They said you were coming but I didn't know when,” Teddy gushed happily, suddenly in Harry's arms.  
“Merlin you've grown,” Harry grunted, trying to keep hold of his godson before having to give up and put him back on the floor. “Merry Christmas Ted.”  
  
Ron suddenly came over all hot as Harry bent and pressed a kiss into Teddy's purple hair, a look of such raw love on his face that it was arresting. When Teddy turned towards him, Ron wasn't sure what to do or say. Teddy was nine and intelligent for his age. Ron had no idea what he'd been told about the things that had happened – how the lives of the adults he loved had changed.  
  
Teddy approached him cautiously, wearing a smile.  
  
“Can I give you a hug?” he asked tentatively. “I saw how much Uncle Arthur hurt you when he did, I don't want to hurt you.”  
“I can take it,” Ron promised with a wink, and gave another to his dad, who looked mortified.  
  
A massive grin spread across the boy's face and then he was in Ron's arms, hugging just as fiercely but a great deal more gently than he had hugged Harry.  
  
“I need to tell you about the save I made the other day,” Teddy said, not pulling away. “It was brilliant. I was hanging off my broom by my knees – Nan had kittens.”  
“Nan nearly had a heart attack,” Andromeda corrected. “Harry.” She kissed him on the cheek. “And Ron. Goodness, it's been a while.”  
  
Ron accepted her kiss and the extra squeeze about his shoulders that she gave him. Every time he saw her Ron always thought she looked a little sadder, despite the obvious joy that Teddy gave her.  
  
“It's so good to see you,” she said. “I've been... well. I know what's been going on. You are so brave, Ron. And so strong.” She squeezed him again. “Merlin only knows how you're bearing this. I hated pregnancy. Enough to only do it once.” She gave him a sympathetic smile.  
“It's so _weird_ ,” Teddy muffled against him.  
“What's weird?” Ron asked, messing up his hair, which was bleaching to a lighter shade of lilac.  
“There's a baby in here.” Teddy gently nudged Ron's belly with his head.  
  
Ron opened his mouth but hesitated, unsure of how to respond.  
  
“I completely agree,” he said after a moment of indecision. “Very weird.”  
  
Teddy pulled back and grinned up at him. “Does it mean you can't do stuff?”  
“Like what?”  
“Like take me up on Uncle George's broom! He's got a Firebolt III! Can you believe it?”  
“Sure, but why not him?”  
“He's not you,” Teddy said matter-of-factly, and there was no way Ron could have stopped his pleased blush from spreading over his face.  
  
-  
  
“I remember this,” George said fondly. “This was the year that Fred put itching paste on the loo seat.”  
“Oh my god,” Bill moaned. “I remember that. My arse wasn't right for weeks.”  
  
Ron laughed, which only served to make his body ache more. Dinner was eaten, presents were exchanged. He was absolutely shattered from the interaction with so many people and all the stimulation. It highlighted just how withdrawn he'd become since moving into Grimmauld Place.  
  
“And _that's_ the Christmas where Ron had his first glass of wine and threw up all over Auntie Muriel,” Percy said, turning a page in the Christmas photo album which had been dragged out.  
“I think that's the day she wrote me out of the will for good.” Ron nodded. “Miserable old bat.”  
“Don't speak ill of the dead,” George chastised, wearing a massive grin. “God, she _was_ a proper old bat though.”  
  
The family fell into discussion and Ron took the moment to ease up out of his spot on the sofa next to Harry and pace to the hallway. He didn't want to rub his back in front of them all, but it was killing him.  
  
Everything hurt. He wanted to go home.  
  
Just as he was thinking about how he could make the word 'puke' sound inconspicuous, his mother swooped on him from nowhere.  
  
“Ron, you're bleeding.”  
  
She touched his face and her fingers came away red.  
  
“Shit, again?”  
  
The nosebleeds were a recent side-effect. _And they're welcome to fuck off._  
  
“Come on, let's get you mopped up.”  
  
He didn't protest as she took him by the hand and led him upstairs, quite happy to leave behind the hushed room and pairs of eyes looking at him. He let her sit him down on the toilet lid and fuss over him, cleaning away the blood and giving him tissue to stem the flow.  
  
She pushed his hair back from his brow and sighed.  
  
“I'm fine,” Ron said automatically.  
“No you're not. You've looked awful all day.”  
  
Ron shrugged. He couldn't exactly sugar coat it when he was sat with a wad of tissue up one nostril.  
  
“I'm so glad you came, Ron. Really. I know this must have been hard. But everyone's so happy you're here. Me especially.” She sat down on the edge of the bath and cocked her head. “Is there anything I can do?”  
“No more silence,” he said bluntly. “Either you're in or you're out. And let's not pretend that there's not been damage done. There has. I practically had to drag Harry here today.”  
“I understand.”  
“And stop looking at me like that.”  
“Like what?”  
“Like I've grown a second head. I'm still me, mum. No need to treat me any differently.”  
  
She blinked a few times and then nodded.  
  
“I love Harry, mum.”  
“I know you do. I love him too. I knew one way or another, he'd end up my son-in-law.”  
“One way or another?”  
  
His mother sighed as she met his eye. She didn't say anything, but Ron guessed what she was getting at.  
  
“Oh. Right.”  
“Just like your father, it's rather obvious when you're hopelessly in love, Ron.” She smiled and reached out to put her hand over his. “I just didn't think we'd up here.”  
“Is Ginny all right?” he asked nervously.  
“I think she's just... alight with rage. But she's already said it had been over with Harry for a long time and she'd been searching for a way out herself. She was afraid of ruining things herself.”  
  
Ron made a face at that. Ginny had ruined plenty – not least Harry's well-deserved enjoyable adulthood.  
  
“I know, I know. She's far from blameless. But she feels displaced and that she's been betrayed. Valid or not, it's how she feels, and I don't think there's anything we can do but let her burn her anger out. It will, eventually. It might not ever be like it was but, as we know, 'as it was' wasn't exactly enjoyable for any of you.”  
“That's not true... I love Hermione, mum, and I miss her so much.”  
  
He looked down at the floor.  
  
“I know you do. You had a wonderful marriage and it's terribly sad that it's come to an end. It must... colour your view of the baby.”  
“Everything colours my view of it,” Ron admitted. “I just... I can't sort my brain out, Mum, to a place where this is okay and I really want this. I've got a fucking baby bump.”  
“I know. I felt it earlier. I didn't say anything because I guessed you wouldn't want me to.”  
  
He nodded and started to twiddle his thumbs.  
  
“Do you know the sex yet?”  
“Not yet. I'm not sure if we want to know.”  
  
What Ron meant was that he had neglected the hospital's offer of a sexing scan because knowing the gender of the baby in his belly would make it even more real. It was real enough for the moment.  
  
“Let's see what your nose is doing.”  
  
Ron pulled out the little bullet and waited to feel the slide of blood again. When nothing came he lifted up slightly and put the paper down the loo.  
  
“Shall we go back down? I'll pack up some food for you both and then you and Harry can go home to rest. A good lie down will sort you out.”  
  
He followed her, glad to hear raucous noise from the living room as usual. He rejoined them and perched on the arm of the sofa rather than clamber back to his original spot.  
  
“All right?” Harry asked, from where he was kneeling on the floor playing Exploding Snap with Teddy.  
“Yeah. It's all good. Didn't puke,” Ron said, quirking his eyebrows slightly.  
  
Harry looked up at him, then back at Teddy, and nodded. “Just one minute?” he mouthed.  
  
Ron nodded and stood back up, drifting back through to the kitchen where a number of filled boxes were already sitting on the table.  
  
“Mince pies?”  
“Oh hell yeah,” he grinned, stretching his arms up over his head to try and work the ache out of his spine. “Mum, you've really got to look after this better.”  
  
He stood looking at the clock face which could have done with a good clean. All hands pointed to home, except for Charlie's and Ginny's which pointed to work. Ron didn't think he'd ever forget the kick to his stomach when they'd all returned to The Burrow for the first time after the Battle to find that Fred's hand seemed to have withered and died. It still sat there because nobody could bear to remove it.  
  
“George is doing really well lately,” he commented. “And Angelina looks so well.”  
“They're getting there... He looks so much more alive these days.”  
“I suppose nine years... Nine years is a long time to grieve.”  
  
“Ready to go?” Harry asked over his shoulder.  
“Sure, if you are. Don't you want to spend a bit more time with Teddy?”  
“No... I've got something I need to talk to you about,” Harry said in lowered tones. “At home.”  
“Okidoke. Mum, we're going to make a move then.”  
“Of course, of course, now, here's a bag with all the food in. You know what to do with it I'm sure.”  
  
-  
  
“So. How are we feeling?” Harry asked cautiously.  
  
Ron shrugged. “I don't know really. I mean. I'm glad nobody yelled at us, but... I'm still _really_ angry with them. I know better late than never but...” he shook his head.  
  
“Good. Me too. So angry.”  
  
Harry leant over and clinked his bottle of beer against Ron's pumpkin juice.  
  
They both drank in silence. The living room was decorated with a Christmas tree, a garland over the fireplace and Christmas cards strung up on the wall. Harry had set a candle going which stank of cinnamon and the room was warm. Ron was sunk into the corner of the sofa with his feet in Harry's lap.  
  
“It's our first Christmas officially together,” Harry said, sounding morose.  
  
His mood hadn't really picked up since Charlie's birthday.  
  
“You could sound more thrilled about it,” Ron teased, gently nudging Harry's belly with his foot.  
“I am... I just... I realised something earlier, on the floor with Teddy. Looking at tiny Remus.”  
“What?”  
  
The fire gave a loud pop and Ron drank some pumpkin juice.  
  
“Ew. God. That's vile, why do we drink this shit, Harry?” He made a show of gagging.  
  
Pregnancy so far hadn't played havoc too badly with his taste buds. He banished his glass to the coffee table and shuddered as a bitter aftertaste filled his mouth.  
  
“I forgot to go to the cemetery,” Harry said softly, staring down at Ron's feet. “For the first time in...”  
  
Ron had accompanied Harry on some of his yearly pilgrimages to the graves of his parents and a few select others. At first it was because he felt terrible about missing the very first journey when they were seventeen. Then it became about being glad to share it with Harry when neither Ginny or Hermione attended. They'd stand hand-in-hand in silence, and Harry would _need_ him, and Ron was always there for him.  
  
He immediately felt consumed with guilt that it was probably his fault that Harry hadn't remembered to go.  
  
“It's not too late, Harry. Let's go now.”  
“Ron, come off it, it's freezing and you look like you should have been in bed three hours ago.”  
“I'm fine,” he insisted. “Come on.”  
  
He made to get up but Harry grabbed his legs in a deadlock – Ron tried to wriggle free but only succeeded in ending up half on his back on the sofa.  
  
“We are not bloody trouncing halfway up the country and then carrying on to bloody Scotland with you in this state!” Harry barked forcefully. “I mean it, Ron!”  
  
He didn't sound particularly playful and Ron sagged where he lay. His little struggle had made his back hurt again and, though he felt guilty, was really quite glad that they wouldn't be making a late night trip to pay their respects to the dead.  
  
“We can go tomorrow?” he offered. “Maybe stop at The Three Broomsticks afterwards?”  
“I think... I think I'll just leave it.” Harry shrugged. “They're dead. They'll still be dead whenever I next get there.”  
  
He looked so miserable that Ron forced himself to sit up and lean close.  
  
“I'm worried about you,” he said honestly, reaching out for one of Harry's hands and pulling it into his lap. “You're not yourself at the minute.”  
“And I have to 'be myself' every single fucking minute of the day, do I?” Harry asked bitterly.  
“No, I didn't say that. Just that you're not yourself at the minute and I'd really appreciate at least knowing what the fuck's up, all right?”  
  
He stared at Harry with his eyebrows raised. He hated it when people put words in his mouth.  
  
Harry's eyes narrowed in the nasty way that they could, ruining the lovely green, and Ron waited, wondering if he was going to get a mouthful. It only lasted a few seconds before Harry's expression slackened and his head fell forward.  
  
“Sorry. I don't mean to take it out on you.”  
“Yes you do. We all do it, Harry. We take things out on the people we love most because we know that we can make them hurt and we want them to hurt because we hurt. Misery loves company.”  
“Christ, you've seen that therapist once and suddenly you're a fucking psychiatrist?” Harry smiled at him.  
  
“Nah...” Ron looked down at his lap. “I've just done my fair share of hurting people.”  
  
Harry said nothing for a while, but eventually he turned towards Ron, propping up his head with his free arm on the back of the sofa.  
  
“I guess it's just hit me really hard that the only grandparents our kid has will be yours.” Harry couldn't look at him as he said it. “You know that I love your mum and dad, and they're like parents to me. But they're _not_ my parents. And there's no Sirius, and there's no Remus, and just sitting there tonight with Teddy... I just felt so fucking guilty that I've not seen him for so long.”  
“Me too,” Ron whispered, squeezing Harry's hand. “But I know it's worse for you.”  
“And just... the way he just bounded into it. 'So Uncle Harry's gay and loves Uncle Ron, who's up the duff with his baby? Sure, that's fine, can we go flying now?' I mean what the hell?”  
  
Harry smiled as he said it and ended up chuckling.  
  
“Well he's taken to it better than I did, that's for sure,” Ron admitted. “But... you know. Wizarding kids are different, in a way. We grow up seeing the impossible every day. We see so much that sometimes the odd and the bizarre doesn't really bother us after a certain point.”  
“Then why did you have such trouble accepting Dean's love of football?”  
“Because football's fucking boring,” Ron insisted. “But Teddy. He's just this big ball of love. I can't imagine he's ever had a nasty thought. He fucking cherishes you. He was always going to accept anything you said or did.”  
  
Harry nodded and sucked thoughtfully on his lower lip. Ron could tell he wanted to say something but was working up to it.  
  
“It was... it was amazing, watching you with him,” he said finally. “It made me that stupid kind of warm and fuzzy. Could have brimmed over with warm and fuzzy.”  
“If it helps, I felt the same way watching you with him. When you kissed him on top of his head...” Ron swallowed. “It was like seeing the future. And part of me really, really liked it.”  
  
For the first time in days, Harry looked happy. Ron fought back a wave of nausea which rose on the realisation that Harry's happiness had come from him showing some form of enthusiasm for their situation.  
  
“I was wondering if you'd mind... if Teddy stayed with us for a few weeks?”  
“Here?”  
  
Ron wasn't too sure how he felt about that. If Harry was at work as much as he had been, that meant he'd be doing all of the entertaining and looking after.  
  
“He can come to work with me sometimes, and if you're ever not feeling up to it, Molly'll have him. But he's nearly ten and I don't want to blink and see him going off to Hogwarts when he won't want to spend time with us any more...”  
“For what it's worth, I think you'll always be his favourite, Harry.”  
  
“It's nice...” Harry said softly. “Being someone's favourite person. You're my favourite person, y'know. I love you.”  
“How much of that have you had?” Ron asked suspiciously, looking at Harry's collection of empties on the end table. “Are you going to start singing soon?”  
“Shut up,” Harry muttered as he went red.  
  
Ron lifted Harry's fingers to his lips and kissed them.  
  
“Sure. Bring on the nine-year-old. I'm up for it.”  
“Really?” Harry sounded surprised.  
“Yeah. Y'know... it's... practice.” He shrugged. “Sort of.” He rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”  
  
“I love you,” Harry repeated softly.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been quite some time since Harry had his arse handed to him, and he's not any better at dealing with it in his advancing age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, language, mentioned past infidelity / adultery, Mpreg, divorce.

**Harry**  
  
Harry sipped his coffee and took a moment to close his eyes while he waited for the chamber to fill for the meeting. He was shattered. Ron had barely slept and spent the night tossing and turning, meaning Harry hadn't slept either.  
  
He'd rolled out of bed feeling half-dead and headed to work. He'd found a summons to a departmental briefing on his desk and was waiting for it to start. The coffee was his third but it didn't seem to be helping.  
  
Ron had been increasingly low and sleeping less and less the further into the pregnancy they got. He had just gone over five months and his bump was bigger and his temper fouler with each passing day.  
  
Harry was very glad that Teddy was there to keep an eye on him.  
  
One week had turned into two, two weeks had turned into four, and Teddy was still with them with no end date in sight. Andromeda had been worried it would upend him, but Teddy had taken to life in Grimmauld Place like a fish to water and Andromeda was using the first freedom she'd had for nine years to visit friends.  
  
He knew it wasn't right or healthy to rely on a nine-year-old child to look after his pregnant husband, but Harry had come to take his victories whenever and wherever he could. He took another mouthful of coffee and he sighed, reaching back to rub his neck.  
  
He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep on running on empty, but he would try.  
  
“All right, settle down.” Kingsley's voice boomed through the room.  
  
Harry forced his eyes open and knew he'd have to fight to stay awake, because Kingsley's voice had a wonderful soporific quality to it. He wasn't boring, but there was just something so soothing about it. Ron had actually fallen asleep in several meetings with Kingsley over the years. A swift elbow to the ribs had saved him many a time. Harry wished that Ron was there right then to provide him with the same service.  
  
He missed Ron in general. Work was a lot harder to cope with when he didn't have Ron's face to focus on, or Ron's sense of humour to make him laugh. He'd come back to work briefly after Christmas and it had gone well, but he'd collapsed a week in and the hospital had found another internal bleed. He'd been signed off work indefinitely until after the birth and as far as Harry could tell, Ron was happy with that decision.  
  
Harry still worried about him though. Ron barely left the house because he was so self-conscious of people seeing his stomach. Again Harry counted it as a blessing that Teddy was there to be amused because without him, Ron probably just would have fallen further into depression.  
  
Teddy needed feeding and amusing and, without work to serve as a disruption, he had Ron's undivided attention, something which thrilled the nine-year-old boy. Harry understood completely – Ron's total concentration and love channelled in one's direction was a beautiful thing to experience.  
  
“Okay, so. We've finally managed to make headway following the failed curse which turned up last week. Hats off to you three, you really did well stopping that disaster.”  
  
Harry stifled a yawn instead of joining in the banter and laughter which followed Kingsley's praise of three Aurors on the other side of the room. He drank some more coffee.  
  
He found it impossible to zone back into Kingsley's briefing as it picked back up again. Harry crossed his legs at the ankle and slid down in his seat a little. He felt a little delirious.  
  
_So how are you going to cope with a newborn baby?_  
  
Harry tried to ignore that thought. He'd been having plenty of them over the past few weeks, as Ron's health worsened and his belly grew.  
  
Hitting the bottom of his cup, Harry genuinely felt like he might cry at the prospect of trying to get through the rest of the meeting without caffeine. He wondered if anyone would notice him running for the door as fast as his legs would carry him.  
  
“Harry.”  
  
He jumped and looked up – everyone _would_ have noticed him because they were currently staring at him expectantly.  
  
“Yes,” he said automatically, his default answer for when he had no idea what was going on around him.  
  
There were some titters of laughter over the room. Harry kept his eyes forward.  
  
“That's great, but I asked you if you were in a relationship with that mug. You can't take your eyes off it,” Kingsley teased gently. “If you could stay with me, Harry, I'd be grateful.”  
  
He knew that he'd not been paying attention and that Kingsley had every right to chastise him for being off in the clouds, but Harry couldn't help hating him a little in that moment for doing it in front of the entire room and all of their colleagues. Kingsley, whilst being highly supportive of and kind to Ron, had cooled towards him over the last few months. Harry had hoped he was imagining it, but the more it went on the more he became convinced he was right.  
  
He couldn't remember Kingsley ever making fun out of him in front of everyone before.  
  
Harry gingerly put his mug down and folded his arms over his chest, not caring if it made him look like a sulky teenager.  
  
“Well, the long and short of it is, if we move in on this cell, you've seen what they can do. Some of you have already been burned by them. Some of our colleagues are still in the hospital because of what these idiots sent us. I would put the danger level of this mission as a level five. And you know I don't do that lightly.”  
  
That piqued Harry's interest. It had been a while since they'd had a level five. Even the raid which saw Ronald Weasley at home with a baby in an unnatural womb had only been rated as a four. He'd faced off vampire covens at three and a small werewolf pack at two.  
  
The word 'five' had injected a little energy into the room. Harry fought back a smile – most people that became Aurors were adrenalin junkies, so the dangerous mission meant that everybody was suddenly listening.  
  
“So, as per the rules, this mission is volunteer-only. If nobody volunteers, we think again.”  
  
The room burst into life around him and Harry looked around at the people clamouring for a position. He grabbed his coffee cup and stood up.  
  
“Yes?” Kingsley asked him.  
“Count me in. I'm your guy. I'm just going to have another five of these...” He waved his coffee cup. “And then I'm all yours to lead this.”  
  
Someone started muttering bitterly at the back. Harry ignored them, because pulling rank sometimes was one of the only privileges of being Harry Potter.  
  
“I'm sorry, Potter. You're not going on this mission.”  
“What?” He said tersely.  
“Not this time. I need you here. I need your skills as a tactician without Weasley here pulling the strings from the drawing board.”  
  
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Kingsley immediately addressed someone else and the noise in the room crept back up to an unbearable level. Harry remained frozen where he stood, cup dangling from his fingers, staring at the leader of their magical community with building rage.  
  
The meeting started to clear around him but Harry stayed put. If Kingsley tried to leave, he would follow him, because there was no way that they weren't going to discuss what had just happened.  
  
When the last person had drifted out of the door and let it close behind them, Harry slammed his mug down on the nearest desk.  
  
“What the hell was that?” He demanded, barely managing to keep from swearing.  
  
He knew his anger was so strong because he was sleep deprived and miserable, but Harry didn't heed the warning signs in his mind to stop and mind his tongue.  
  
Kingsley didn't bother to question what he was talking about. He simply picked up his papers and looked back. Standing there with him not saying anything actually turned out to be worse than him shouting, Harry found.  
  
“Well?” he asked finally. “Why? Why can't I lead this case?”  
“It astounds me that you don't know why, Harry.”  
“What exactly am I supposed to know?”  
“Do you really think that no matter how good the Auror, I have _ever_ let a parent-to-be out on any mission higher than a level three? Do you think I'm in this job to break the news of spousal deaths to pregnant wom- people?!”  
  
Harry had been expecting many things, but not quite that.  
  
“So no, Harry, you can't lead this case, you can't even touch it with a ten foot barge pole, and the fact that you'd throw yourself into a level five voluntarily whilst you've got a baby on the way? It makes me question your judgement.”  
“My judgement's just _fine_ ,” Harry spat. “And I don't need your concern.”  
  
“Well, if you don't, Ron damned well does. He's my employee too and I'm not going to let you tantrum your way into a position whereby you'll leave him all alone in the mess that you had a hand in creating and wouldn't help him resolve no matter how much he begged you!”  
  
“That's none of your business,” Harry yelled, losing control of his volume switch.  
  
“You made it my business when you knocked up one of my best Aurors and then trapped him in a pregnancy he didn't want and now is too ill to work through! And beyond that you're happy to just throw yourself into a situation where your neck is on the line without a second thought for him, or the baby, or anyone but yourself and your own bloody need to feel relevant and important! For once, Harry, this isn't about you. _This is about Ron._ ”  
  
Harry couldn't help but flinch slightly. It had been a long time since Kingsley had full-on shouted at him.  
  
“So you're going to hold me back at work because you think I'm selfish?”  
“I _know_ you're selfish,” Kingsley retorted. “No thinking necessary.”  
“What? Oh my god!” Harry cried, throwing his hands up in frustration.  
  
Kingsley's mouth was open, probably to shout some more, but Harry watched as he closed it again and took a very deep breath.  
  
“This is not up for discussion. Any input you have on this case will be had from inside these offices and I'm in half a mind to pull you off it full stop and let you slave over the damned World Cup paperwork until the baby's born.”  
“That's not fair-”  
“I don't care if it's fair – and every single word out of your mouth is another step towards losing any credibility you still hold with me, Harry.”  
  
Harry watched as Kingsley moved to the meeting room door. He didn't look back over his shoulder as he went through it.  
  
Unable to keep his shout of rage in, Harry seized the mug he'd put down and threw it as hard as he possibly could against the wall.  
  
-  
  
His day after that had gone continually sour. Harry had gone to great lengths to avoid Kingsley and everyone else from the department. He'd done this by burying himself in the archives searching for anything to do with male pregnancy - _because fuck you am I selfish Kingsley_ \- and then when the librarian had grown suspicious he'd relocated back to his and Ron's office whilst all the others were out on lunch and now, well, he was wandering the halls of the Ministry to avoid having to do any real work.  
  
He actually had no idea where he was, but as an Auror, nobody was going to give him any trouble should be somewhere out of bounds.  
  
_Which of course I am, because I'm an inconsiderate dickhead._ Harry allowed himself to make a childish face to accompany the bitter voice in his head.  
  
“Fucking bullshit,” he muttered under his breath and turned a corner.  
  
He leapt back round it when he came face to face with something he was in no mood to see. He peeped back round, though, drawn inexplicably to the sight.  
  
“Well, thank you for your time today. I'm so sorry that things have come to an end between you.”  
  
He'd completely forgotten that it was the day of the final divorce appointment. He'd headed off to work without even sparing a thought for what Ron would be facing that day – just why he might have had a sleepless night.  
  
He felt disgusted with himself as Ron pulled Hermione into an embrace and held her right there in the middle of the Ministry. He looked awful and the madly baggy clothes didn't help. If he had to go out he'd taken to wearing clothes two times too big to disguise the physical proof of their child from the world.  
  
Harry didn't blame him. The newspapers were getting ridiculous.  
  
“This feels so strange,” Hermione said, pulling away from Ron. “I just... I never expected to feel so empty. To feel a part of myself go when he pulled the bond out of those rings.”  
  
Ron had explained that separation in the Wizarding World was somewhat more physical than in the Muggle world. The magic which created the marriage bond had to be removed from the body and any jewellery the couple had used.  
  
“It's really fucking shit,” Ron confirmed. “I'd ask if you wanted to go for a drink, but... well, that's fucked.” He laughed a mirthless laugh and Hermione nodded, somehow managing to wear a smile.  
“How about we go for an ice cream then?” She suggested.  
“Ah... I don't really feel like being out in public. Especially not with you.”  
  
Harry winced at Ron's lack of tact.  
  
“No. I don't mean it like that. But everyone's so interested at the minute and... I can't face it.”  
“I understand, honeybear.” Hermione suddenly grimaced and went pink. “Oh, Godric. I can't call you that any more, can I?”  
“I _never_ gave you permission to call me that,” Ron said dryly. “You just did it anyway and I didn't have the heart to tell you to stop.”  
  
Hermione laughed properly then, tipping her head back and letting her hair fall off her face. Harry could see she'd been crying – if she had, then Ron had.  
  
“Then... I guess... we just go home,” she said sadly. “Not sure I can face that. Our house...”  
“It's your house now,” Ron reminded her with a smile.  
  
She hummed her acknowledgement and reached into her pocket for a tissue.  
  
“Come with me?” she asked suddenly. “Just one last time. To say goodbye.”  
“I've said goodbye.”  
“Have you? When?”  
“The other night when I came round to get the last of my stuff. Went from room to room moping like the sad little man I am. It was damned emotional I'll have you know. Had a really deep and meaningful conversation with that bookcase in your office.”  
“The first one you ever built!” Hermione cried with realisation. She laughed again. “Oh Ron.”  
  
Harry began to throb with something that wasn't anger – something still raw and still unsettling, but it wasn't fury.  
  
Or maybe it was. He really didn't know.  
  
Ron slung his arms around Hermione's shoulders and they came towards him. Panicking, Harry leapt through the door to his left, not caring at all what was on the other side. He just didn't want them to know he'd been listening to their moment.  
  
Luckily he just found himself in a storage cupboard and, glad of the privacy, he slumped back against a wall and exhaled hard. He saw the shadows of Ron and Hermione pass by and his chest ached when he heard Ron laugh.  
  
He'd been laughing very little of late, and only really when he was with Teddy.  
  
“Because I'm a selfish prick forcing him to go through with a pregnancy he hates to make me happy.”  
  
He slid down the wall until he was in a sitting position with his legs up in front of him. If anyone found him he'd look completely and utterly pathetic – he certainly felt it.  
  
He looked across the tiny cupboard. Something about it looked familiar. He fixed his eyes on a nail oddly sticking out of the wall.  
  
“I had sex in here,” he said to himself, jumping to his feet again.  
  
Now that he thought about it, he remembered that nail because it had dug into his back when Ron pushed him against the wall. It had been a good few years ago.  
  
He fingered the nail and focussed on it. He needed to go home and be around people who loved him, because he really wasn't a big fan of himself at that moment.  
  
***  
“What's the matter with you?” Ron muttered out of the corner of his mouth.  
  
Harry sighed and reached for the tea towel.  
  
“I'm just tired,” he answered.  
  
He knew the lie wouldn't convince Ron at all, but he felt he had to at least try. His week had not improved at all. A night curled up with Ron had done him the world of good but on returning to work the next morning he'd missed his chance to clear the air with Kingsley; consequently they'd not bothered and ever since everything had been growing increasingly fraught.  
  
They were heading for an explosion and Harry knew it wasn't going to be pretty. So he was doing what he could do best – he was ignoring it and pretending everything was fine.  
  
Ron eyeballed him and shook his head slightly, but decided not to push it. Harry was grateful. He'd not admitted to seeing Ron with Hermione after they'd left the officiator's office – somehow it felt like he'd been spying on them in their final private moments. Ron had been sensitive but mostly okay since, with no real worsening of his mood or symptoms.  
  
He stood there in pyjama bottoms and an old Weird Sisters t-shirt that Harry didn't actually think belonged to either of them, because neither of them particularly liked the Weird Sisters. It didn't hide the curve of his stomach at all and Harry liked that. He liked the sight of Ron very obviously bearing his child.  
  
Unable to help himself, he put his freshly dried hands on Ron's stomach and leant in for a kiss.  
  
“Love you.”  
“I love you too. Wish you'd tell me what's up,” Ron responded.  
  
Harry thought about answering, but Ron suddenly jerked in shock.  
  
“What? What's wrong?” Harry cried.  
  
Ron's jaw was hanging loosely and he had paled significantly. “Nothing's... wrong,” he said. “I...” He pulled Harry's hand over a little and pressed his palm flat to the bump.  
  
Frowning, Harry was non-plussed until he finally felt it – a small nudge as if something had kicked from within.  
  
“Oh... Is that?”  
“I think so.” Ron made a face. “I'm not sure. I've been feeling sort of... bubbly feelings for a while. But I figured they were just wind.” He shrugged. “But it seems not.”  
“Wind, really?!” Harry exclaimed, putting both palms flat to Ron's belly. “Wow, this is so amazing, Ron! Oh my god.”  
  
He felt as though someone had set off a load of party poppers in his chest and he was a thousand feet tall all at once. That was his _baby_ moving. In Ron. His and Ron's baby.  
  
“Oh my god,” he repeated happily.  
  
“What's going on?” Teddy asked and Harry jumped – he'd forgotten that technically they were in the middle of dinner.  
“We just felt the baby move,” Ron beat him to answering. “Properly, for the first time. When I didn't think it was just the start of a really big fart.”  
  
Teddy snorted through his mouthful of juice. “Bigger than that one you let off in the cinema the other day?”  
“Edward Remus Lupin, I thought we said we'd never speak of that?!”  
  
Ron dropped his t-shirt and slouched across the kitchen to tickle Teddy's armpits before sitting back down.  
  
“It's okay,” he said to Harry as he approached. “I blamed it really loudly on someone who'd just left to go to the toilet. It was seamless timing.”  
“You didn't say you'd gone to the cinema.” Harry re-joined them at the table. “When was that?”  
“Wednesday, I think?” Ron screwed his face up. “The days tend to blur into one when you're basically unemployed and always bored.”  
  
Harry picked up his fork. For some reason he found it really irritating that they were doing things without him and not even bothering to tell him about it.  
  
“It was a really crappy film,” Teddy offered.  
“Oi!” Ron huffed. “Less of that. Your grandmother will have me up by the short and curlies if she hears you talking like that.”  
“She's in Greece, she can't hear me.” Teddy poked his tongue out and stuffed a potato in his mouth.  
“Bloody good job too,” Ron muttered with a roll of his eyes.  
  
Teddy grinned to himself.  
  
“You mean if his Nan hears him talking like you.” Harry smiled at Ron.  
“There's nothing wrong with the way I speak.”  
  
Ron went red as both Harry and Teddy stared at him; Teddy started laughing first and then they were all at it. Ron looked distinctly disgruntled.  
  
They finished their dinner with only little snorts of laughter and the odd pop and crackle from the fireplace punctuating the silence.  
  
-  
  
Harry poked his head inside the room that Teddy had commandeered as his own and smiled as he found it dark but with an odd glow of light emitting from under the duvet.  
  
“Ted, how many times? You don't have to hide to stay up reading,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. He pulled the duvet back to reveal a grinning Teddy with mad hair and a torch in hand. “What are you reading?”  
“My favourite.”  
  
Harry knew what Teddy's favourite was – the edited version of 'Hogwarts: A History', which had been updated to include the Battle of Hogwarts and had chapters on notable pupils who had fought both the first and second wars.  
  
In short, Teddy was reading about his dead parents and the aunts, uncles and family friends who he adored.  
  
“Nan hates it,” Teddy said quietly, closing the cover. “I think it just reminds her of stuff... and she says I shouldn't live in the past when I have so much ahead.”  
“She's a wise woman, your Nan is,” Harry had to agree.  
  
But he too had grown up not knowing the touch of his parents. He knew what it was to lie there in the dark and hope against hope that it had been a cruel joke – that suddenly they'd be there, banging down the front door just to get to him, to love him.  
  
Half of his dream had come true in the form of Hagrid turning up like a Giant Fairy Godmother with a pink umbrella and a birthday cake. Hagrid had brought him a life.  
  
Harry still wasn't sure if he would have swapped life as he knew it for a life where his parents never died and he grew up loved, looked after and cherished. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to make that call.  
  
But if Teddy wanted to lie there and read about his parents over and over, Harry wasn't going to stop him. He'd done enough of that himself.  
  
“Budge up,” he advised.  
  
Teddy moved over for him happily and Harry laid down on his front. He opened the book and without even having to think about it, turned to the pages which held pictures and information about his own parents.  
  
“This is my mum and dad,” he said. “There's Sirius.” He stroked the copy of their wedding photograph.  
“Where's my dad?” Teddy asked eagerly.  
“He's the one taking the picture, I think. It's the only one I've got.”  
“Your mum looks so nice.”  
“Mm. She was. But she wasn't as nice as she could have been.”  
  
Teddy frowned but didn't ask.  
  
“If she'd found it in her to be a little kinder... to someone who loved her, maybe everything might have turned out differently. But I don't blame her. Just really wish everything could have been different.”  
“Me too,” Teddy said solemnly. “I wish Nan didn't cry every time my hair changes colour. I can't help it but sometimes it's like she can't look at me any more.”  
  
Harry sighed and nudged Teddy with his shoulder. “It's hard. Your mum was a very special person. So was your dad though he'd never have believe you if you'd said it.”  
“It's weird, isn't it... to miss people you never even knew?”  
“Not weird at all. You dream of what you could have had. I think that's the most normal thing in the world, just for people like us it's because of a crappy hand of fate.”  
  
His nine-year-old companion thought about that for a while before he nodded.  
  
“And now you're going to have a baby, and you get to give it what you didn't have. A mum and dad. Love. Well. Two dads, I guess.”  
“Two dads,” Harry agreed, nodding.  
“Harry?”  
“Mm?”  
“When did you know you that you loved Ron? Like, love loved him.”  
“Why do you want to know about that?”  
  
Harry closed the cover of the book and smoothed his fingers over it.  
  
“I just wondered. If it was something you knew all along. Because I kind of like that. I like that you got him in the end. That you're together now and you're going to have a baby even if he's not completely happy. About the baby, I mean.”  
“You've noticed that, eh?”  
  
Teddy shrugged. “I've got eyes. And when he wakes up in the morning, he's got this look - like he really doesn't want to get up and carry on but he does. He does it for you.”  
  
Hitting a little too close to the mark for Harry's comfort, he sat up and rubbed his nose.  
  
“So he must really love you too.”  
“I guess he does.” Harry tried to find a smile.  
“What's wrong?” Teddy asked softly.  
“My advice to you is that you should stay nine forever, mate,” Harry said. “It's a lot easier, trust me.”  
“I'll stay nine forever if I can stay here with you two forever.”  
“And there was me worrying that you were bored out of your brains.”  
“No way! Ron's _so_ cool. The other day he was showing me how to slide down the bannisters into the hallway.... um. He made me promise not to tell you that.”  
“I'll bet he did,” Harry muttered darkly.  
  
“I love it here. I don't want to go home yet.”  
“Well, you're here until after Ron's birthday anyway, so no need to get all mopey just yet, Ted.”  
“Can we do something awesome for it? Like go to a theme park?”  
“Er, not sure a day of rollercoasters is quite the ticket for a pregnant man of six months.”  
  
He promised Teddy that he would consider Ron's birthday properly and picked up Hogwarts: A History.  
  
“Go to bed, Teddy.”  
“I'm in bed.”  
“Then go to sleep.”  
  
A frustrated huff was his only answer and Harry found himself smiling as he stepped out onto the landing and pull the door to behind him.  
  
***  
  
A whole day to themselves with no interruptions and no work. Harry was too tired to properly celebrate but he was looking forward to having Ron's sole attention for what felt like for the first time in weeks.  
  
They were still in bed, wrapped in the duvet, snuggled close together.  
  
Harry actually felt content.  
  
“That doesn't bode well for the zoo.” Ron yawned as rain lashed the window. “Can't think of anything worse than trudging round a bloody zoo in this weather.”  
“That's what wellies and umbrellas are for,” Harry dismissed. He didn't want to think about the possibility of their quiet day being ruined.  
“If they try and put a brolly up in that they'll end up in bloody Mexico.”  
  
Harry chuckled to himself as Ron pressed lazy kisses to his shoulder.  
  
“Sleep well?” Ron asked, creeping his fingers over Harry's hip to play at the elastic waist of his pants.  
“Mm thank God. You?”  
“Didn't even have to get up to pee,” Ron said proudly.  
  
Continence had become an issue neither of them really wanted to discuss. The hospital had said that because of the narrowness of his hips, everything would be under more pressure than in a female pregnancy. That meant he was spending a lot of time running back and forth to the loo.  
  
“Yeah, because it's such a long, treacherous walk to the en-suite.”  
“The dark is full of fear and monsters,” Ron said in a low voice, directly into Harry's ear. “And I didn't want to fall over that fucking trunk again. I'd like to be able to walk until this baby cracks open my pelvis.”  
  
Harry winced at the thought.  
  
“What do you want to do today?” Ron asked.  
“Honestly?”  
“Do tell.”  
“I want to stay here, in bed, in your arms, and I only want to get up to go to the loo and find food.”  
“We can summon food, you idiot.”  
“Oh. Then I don't want to get up unless it's to go to the loo. Nothing else.”  
  
Ron suddenly squeezed him tightly. “I love you so much, Harry.” His tone was light and contented. “I thought you were going to make me clean up the mess we made in the kitchen yesterday.”  
  
Harry smirked to himself as he remembered the night before – he'd come home from work and knowing that Teddy was safely ensconced in The Burrow, had grabbed Ron by the wrist and pulled him all the way up to bed and insisted that Ron fuck him, hard.  
  
They'd been in bed ever since that incident. He didn't even remember seeing any mess in the kitchen.  
  
“What were you doing?”  
“Ted wanted to make some cookies to take with him to mum's... not that he needed to because she's always got enough food on hand to feed a small army. But he kept on and it was just easier to let him do it. But we got into a bit of a food fight along the way. So there may or may not be cookie dough on the ceiling. I had absolutely nothing to do with it, though. It was all him.”  
  
Harry laughed as he turned over to face Ron and kissed him on the end of his long nose. “Whatever you say.”  
  
Ron flashed him a winning grin and then stifled another yawn. “How can I still be so tired?”  
“You're five months pregnant.”  
“Pft. You know what my mum was doing when she was five months pregnant? Still being a mother to the rest of us.”  
“Yeah and she's a woman and not to be sexist or anything, but her body has the necessary parts to deal with all this. Yours doesn't. You're too hard on yourself.”  
  
He had perhaps become a little too impassioned as he spoke, because Ron was looking at him with an odd expression.  
  
“Just... give yourself a bit more credit,” Harry suggested. “You're doing the best you can to look after yourself and the baby.”  
“The hospital wrote to me again. Offered another scan to determine the sex.”  
“Oh?” Harry had been secretly furious that Ron had thrown the last letter on the fire without even consulting him.  
“I wanted to wait and talk to you, find out what you wanted. You're one half of the parenting team here, so...”  
“I want what you want,” Harry said automatically.  
  
Kingsley's words were still very much ringing in his ears. He kept obsessively going over his every word and action, checking that they were not overtly selfish.  
  
“There's that look again.” Ron sighed.  
“What look?”  
“The look where you won't tell me what you're really thinking. Something's been up for days but you won't tell me what...”  
  
Harry looked into Ron's eyes and knew he wouldn't hold up under their intensity. Eventually he groaned and turned his face into the pillow.  
  
“I got into a bit of a barney with Kingsley.”  
“What about?”  
“I wanted to be put on a level five mission and he refused and told me I was selfish.”  
“Whoa, there's a level five going on? What happened? And why would he call you selfish?”  
“Because I _am_ selfish,” Harry responded dully. “He was a hundred percent right, I just didn't want to hear it at that moment.”  
  
“I don't think you're selfish for wanting to do your job,” Ron said.  
“I know. But he said he's never sent a parent-to-be out on higher than a level three no matter how good they were. He... basically judged me for risking my neck when I had you and a baby on the way.”  
  
Ron didn't say anything then, but Harry had wind in his sails and needed to get it all out, the poison which had been dragging him down for days.  
  
“And he said that I owed you my care and safety because of the fact that I wouldn't help you abort the pregnancy. He said I'd trapped you into it.”  
“I see.”  
  
Ron razed his lower lip with his teeth. Harry watched the blood rush back into place as he released it. There were deep purple rings under the redhead's eyes.  
  
“We had a bit of a shouting match and we haven't spoken since. Work's a fucking nightmare. And I miss you so fucking much. It's not the same without you.”  
  
Ron gazed back at him, not speaking.  
  
“And then, when I was busy licking my wounds, I accidentally saw you and Hermione together after your divorce meeting. She called you honeybear. What the fuck's that all about?”  
“Just a nickname. I can't remember where she got it from. You'll be the first person outside either of us to ever have heard it, think yourself lucky.”  
  
“Yeah,” Harry said scathingly. “Because that's what I felt, watching you hug it out with your ex-wife. Lucky. So fucking lucky.” He rolled his eyes. “I never want to see you two hug again.”  
  
Ron frowned, at first looking hurt and then angry. “You can't complain to me about private moments that you snoop on without my knowledge. What was I meant to do, push her away and skip down the corridor? You know that this has hurt both of us.”  
“Well watching her with you hurt _me_.”  
“It was just one fucking minute, Harry, to say goodbye to nine years of marriage. Surely you can understand that, for just that one minute, it wasn't about you? It was about us saying goodbye to what we had.”  
  
Harry shook his head and looked away.  
  
“Wow. Okay. So that's where we are...” Ron exhaled.  
“And where exactly is that?”  
“You being a jealous prick. And, I have to say, I'm not fucking impressed that you'd jump head first into a level five without even thinking about us either. Clearly this isn't that important to you if you'd willingly leave it all behind just like that.”  
  
Harry could have kicked himself as Ron threw back the covers and started to throw on the pyjamas he'd discarded the night before.  
  
“Come on, Ron. You know you mean the world to me. That this means so much.”  
“Then you've got to admit that Kingsley has a point.”  
“I do! He does! I've just... I've never had to think of anyone else before. I've never had to think like a father before. I've never been one.” Harry sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. “I just didn't think.”  
  
Ron looked like he sorely wanted to comment further on that but he closed his mouth instead. He slipped his arms into his dressing gown and belted it around his bump.  
  
“I didn't... with Hermione. I'd just had my arse handed to me by my boss in front of an entire room full of colleagues and then seeing you there with her... it just pushed me over the edge a bit. I hid in a cleaning cupboard so you wouldn't see me. I didn't want to ruin it for you.”  
“So considerate.”  
  
Ron rolled his eyes and turned to open the curtains. Rain was teeming down outside.  
  
“Yeah, they might need a fucking boat to get round the zoo,” he said.  
“Will you shut up about the shitting zoo?!” Harry moaned desperately, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I don't care about the zoo. I don't care about anything right now except for getting that look off your face and not feeling so fucking shitty any more!”  
  
He hadn't realised that his voice had risen to a shout. Ron sauntered back to the bed and sat down on it. He looked tired, ill and worried.  
  
“And I'm really hating myself for not listening to you at the start,” Harry whispered, looking down at his legs. “About the abortion. You should have had it if you wanted it. And I should have helped you get it rather than pressuring you into keeping a baby you didn't want.”  
  
Ron reached out and squeezed Harry's knee. He looked lost for words, but did say something eventually. “Yeah. You probably should have.”  
“Do you resent me? Resent it?”  
  
After just a split second of hesitation Ron shook his head. “Not any more. For better or for worse this is happening now. But I did, at first. It just felt so effeminate and unreal. I was so scared...”  
  
“And now?”  
  
“Still scared shitless,” Ron said hopelessly. “I've got no idea how to be a dad, Harry. I can't imagine how we're going to manage this practically. How the fuck do we even feed it? No milk on tap here.” He gestured to his chest. “At least not in any of the reading I've done so far. Thank god, the thought gives me the willies.”  
“And me,” Harry added unhelpfully, and shuddered to prove his point.  
  
“But then you see all the 'breast is best' bollocks and you feel shit. I can't compete with that! I physically can't do it. And I know that we've got the jump on Muggles when it comes to formula feeding babies but still... how? How?!”  
  
Harry saw the signs of Ron becoming slightly hysterical and reached out to grab his hands. Lacing their fingers together, he held on tight.  
  
“We'll muddle through. I think that's what all first time parents do. And if we get stuck we have a massive family on hand to help us out. Your mum's raised seven kids. She'll be here to raise this one to if we just say the word. You know that.”  
  
Ron sniffed slightly. Harry could sense there was something he wasn't saying.  
  
“What?” he asked.  
“You're always at work.” Ron was chewing on the inside of his cheek. “You're never here. I don't think I'll be able to cope on my own. I can't feel any inkling of emotion for it yet... so... what if it never happens? What if I never love it?”  
“You will love it,” Harry said, not sure how he knew – but he _knew._  
  
“And then there's the future to think of. When they get picked on at school because they've got two dads. What then?”  
“Then we'll deal with it when it happens. If it happens.”  
“Oh it will. There's always a fucking Malfoy somewhere in that school.”  
  
Harry laughed then. The idea of sending their baby off to Hogwarts seemed an impossibly far away task. They still had so much more life to live and Ron was already at Kings Cross waving their child off.  
  
“Well, look. When you have it... work won't be even the second most important thing in my life. It'll be you, baby, family and then the job. I don't think I'll be able to bear spending so much time there when I could be here with you. As a family. Priorities change.”  
“And if they don't?” Ron asked, his question loaded with fear.  
  
“They will,” Harry said firmly.  
  
Ron looked unconvinced and unhappy.  
  
Harry wanted to make it better. To tell Ron what he wanted to hear. But there was nothing he could think of to say which would do it.  
  
Harry felt pretty unconvinced and unhappy himself.  
  
They were bad for each other when they got like this.  
  
“I'm going back to bed,” he said finally, falling down onto the mattress on his back.  
  
He'd hoped that Ron would climb in next to him and at least be there in stony silence. Instead Harry heard footsteps walking to the door and then Ron was gone.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron realises that he still has a boiling point and a last nerve, and Harry has pushed him beyond them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, language, mentioned past infidelity / adultery, Mpreg, divorce.

**Ron**  
  
“Everyone's staring,” Ron muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “You promised you couldn't see it.”  
“I couldn't,” Harry answered wanly. “And nobody's staring. You're being paranoid.”  
  
Ron internally called Harry a lot of names he wouldn't dare say in public. Certainly not in the middle of a Ministry function. He'd tried everything he could think of to get out of it, but being an Auror _and_ Harry's best friend and lover meant that there was absolutely no way he would escape.  
  
The second he'd realised that he'd gone to Madam Malkin's and stood there for three whole hours until she could find some robes which mostly hid the changes to his body that he didn't hate.  
  
He was using glamours to perk up the pallor of his face, hide the bags under his eyes and disguise the outbreak of spots which had appeared as he hit the six month mark.  
  
Everything hurt and he really didn't want to be amongst old colleagues. Even though he'd only been signed off until after the birth it felt as though he had already completely given up his career. Grimmauld Place was lonely without Teddy, who had finally returned home to Andromeda after Ron's birthday – and it had given him too much time to think.  
  
Ron hadn't admitted to Harry just how much he missed their resident metamorphagus. There was no entertainment to be had and nobody to put on a front for. By the time Harry came home from work he had forced himself to get dressed and wash his face, but that meant several hours beforehand where he slobbed about the house half-dressed and miserable.  
  
“It's nearly over,” Harry said soothingly, sneaking his hand out to rub the small of Ron's back.  
  
Even without the baby, they would have drawn attention that night. They were together and very obviously so, given that they'd not left each other's sides all evening long.  
  
“Yeah, nearly,” Ron said hopefully, sipping something which was sweet enough to make his teeth fall out. He supposed that was a mistake, given that the pregnancy was starting to take its toll on those, too.  
  
In short, he was falling apart at the seams, his bump was huge and he felt like he was buried beneath fifty feet of crap.  
  
And there he was in one of the Ministry's stuffiest conference halls, pretending to be happy about it.  
  
“My feet hurt,” he whinged.  
“Mine too. Just another hour and we can get out of here. Just one more hour.”  
  
Ron thought about nodding in silent solidarity, but he felt a bit too dizzy to do that. Instead he inched a little closer to Harry. Normally, seeing him in the moss green dress robes that Harry favoured would have pushed Ron into a frenzy. They always had. They were obviously expensive and clung to Harry in ways that fabric shouldn't cling to anybody. His slender waist looked particularly delicious.  
  
Ron only realised that he was staring when Harry muttered, “Get your eyes off me, for Godric's sake.”  
“Can't help it,” Ron whispered, leaning down to put his mouth to Harry's ear. “It's hard when I want to take you home and fuck you till you can't walk.”  
“Which is ironic, because all you've done all night is whinge that _you_ can't walk, or stand up, or drink, or eat, or- ow!”  
  
Ron smirked to himself and pulled his hand back from where he'd just jabbed Harry in the ribs.  
  
“For someone who claims to be this much of an invalid you can certainly fuck a lot,” Harry muttered, a grin tugging up the corner of his mouth.  
  
“That's your fault, you sexy fucker.”  
  
Smirking to himself, Ron straightened up and downed the rest of his drink. He popped the empty glass on a passing floating tray and rubbed his hands together.  
  
“I could murder a cheeseburger right now,” he mused.  
“Yeah. The Ministry is famed for its cheeseburgers,” Harry said dryly.  
“Fuck off. I just want one.”  
“McDonald's or Burger King?”  
“Don't joke,” Ron muttered. “Don't you fucking tease me, Harry.”  
“Well, if you can hang on for just an hour more, I'll take you for a cheeseburger.”  
“Two?” he asked hopefully.  
  
Harry laughed and shook his head. “Look. I should probably go and mingle a little bit more before we make our exit. Don't want to give Kingsley anything else to hate me for.”  
  
Ron gave what he hoped was a supportive smile and watched as Harry walked away. He'd hoped that his boss and his boyfriend would be able to work through the argument they'd had. Ron hated that he'd been the cause of it, or at least that a _part_ of him had been the cause of it.  
  
Though he'd loathed Harry's upset he was secretly glad that someone had said what he'd been afraid to say. Harry was a fantastic Auror – Ron had seen him go from strength to strength with each passing year of his career. He was immensely proud of Harry, prouder than Ginny had ever seemed to be. Harry loved his job and he loved protecting people.  
  
It had been frightening, though, to think that he might choose protecting the Wizarding community over his partner and baby. Ron absolutely knew the dangers involved in a level five mission, he'd been on two in his career. Both times he'd discussed them at length with Hermione before giving his final word. They were missions they'd both felt strongly about.  
  
Harry threw himself at every mission without thought.  
  
And they had _a lot_ to think about. Ron would be lying if he said he hadn't imagined the reality that Kingsley was trying to prevent. One where Harry left him all alone to cope with raising their baby.  
  
A shudder passed through him and Ron suddenly felt ten times more tired and sick than he had before.  
  
“Ron. Okay?” Hermione was suddenly by his side. “You look a bit pale.”  
“No more shitty than usual,” he said cheerfully. “How're you? Coping okay?”  
“It's weird being at one of these things without you. I don't think I ever realised just how much fun you made them.”  
“By taking the piss out of everyone? You always told me off for that!”  
“I know, but now I'm missing your inappropriate commentary.” She smiled at him, then looked him up and down. “Lovely robes. You look good. Dark blue always suited you.”  
“Thanks,” Ron said, surprised that she'd think to say it.  
“Funny, isn't it?” She mused with a sigh. “The things you realise you didn't say when everything's over? I can't remember the last time I told you that you looked good. How awful is that?”  
  
Ron shrugged slightly. “It's just life. You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone and all that. You look good too.”  
  
She did. Purple suited her.  
  
“Well... do you think we should give the papers something to explode over? Fancy a dance?”  
  
Ron looked over to where a band were playing for a relatively heavy dance floor. He didn't even understand why there was dancing at one of the most boring yearly Ministry functions there was. He did had to admit it would be more entertaining than standing in a corner until Harry was ready to leave, however.  
  
“Sure.” He offered her his arm and they set off. “Merlin, someone's aftershave stinks of drain cleaner.” He gagged slightly.  
  
Hermione snorted under her breath. “I think that's the baby messing with your nose, Ron.”  
“Or maybe I'm just smelling things as they really are and the rest of you, the rest of you are wrong.”  
“You love it when other people are wrong.”  
“Oh, I really fucking do,” Ron agreed with a laugh.  
  
They laughed quietly together until they reached the others who were dancing and then Hermione turned and put her hands on Ron's waist.  
  
“Don't pull my robes tight,” he muttered. “I want to get through tonight without anyone passing comment.”  
“Ron, they're already doing that.”  
“I know, but I don't want to add fuel to the fire.”  
“Earlier in the loo I had to listen to two women gushing about how adorable the pair of you are together and how _sexy_ your relationship is.”  
“Sexy?” Ron scoffed. “Wow, wish they'd been there the night I managed to sneeze, shit myself and piss myself all at the same time.”  
  
Hermione looked torn between laughter and horror.  
  
“Not my finest moment.” Ron nodded grimly. “Thank Godric I was at home at the time. Harry doesn't know either. He was at work.”  
“You poor thing.” Hermione laughed and made her eyes dance. “I promise I'll never tell another soul.”  
“Definitely not any of my brothers, or I'll have to take you down.”  
  
She laughed again and put her chin on his shoulder. Hermione was close enough to feel the full size of his bump but it surprised him that it didn't make him cringe like it sometimes did with Harry.  
  
It felt nice to be with her again.  
  
“It's so weird, not being with you...” she whispered, as if reading his mind. “I mean... I get home from work and I say things before I realise you're not even there any more. I miss you, Ron.”  
“I miss you too,” he admitted. “I knew I would. I was dreading it and it's been so... odd.”  
“I suppose we just have to weather it as best we can. It'll get better.”  
“I hope so.” He gave her a squeeze. “I don't think I've ever properly thanked you. Don't think I ever could thank you enough for the way you've been through this. So supportive. So nice. Neither of us deserved it.”  
“I thought you did,” she said. “But then I love you both, and I've always forgiven you sins which others wouldn't. And this... it was hard to be angry with you both when you were so clearly mad for one another... and it wasn't like you purposefully got pregnant, was it?”  
  
Ron shook his head and looked out over the crowd, checking the attention levels of those around them.  
  
“So... this is life now, and that's that.”  
“I guess.”  
  
Hermione pulled back and smiled at him. “But I'm sort of wondering when, if ever, I'll stop looking at you and thinking how beautiful you are. How much I resent Harry for taking you away from me. How much I...”  
“Don't say it,” he begged, suddenly all too aware of what she was saying.  
“... Still love you.”  
  
They stared at one another. It wasn't said to pressure him, he could tell that much. It was just Hermione being honest about what she was feeling.  
  
“Probably shouldn't have danced together,” he said finally. “If you're still in love with me. My animal magnetism knows no bounds. All this drama needs is another pregnancy.”  
  
Laughing again, Hermione shook her head. “Gods, can you imagine?”  
“Nobody could ever say we're boring.”  
“How're things between you and Harry?” she asked, crowding back against him to dance again.  
“Just... it's all a bit shit if I'm honest. I want to stand here and tell you it's fantastic and we're so in love but... we seem to be fighting more than anything.”  
“About what?”  
“Everything. Work. The baby. The future. Dinner. Who used the last of the milk.”  
“Well that sounds nice and normal,” she pointed out.  
“Except it's not normal because I shouldn't be pregnant with his baby.”  
“And that's a lot of pressure for two people who have never lived together properly before. You're on an accelerated track to a really frightening destination.”  
  
Ron nodded. “Doesn't make it any easier, though. When he's yelling at me for not doing the washing or because he tripped over something of mine in the middle of the night.”  
“Do you remember when we first moved in together?” Hermione demanded. “How much we fought? The massive argument we had the day before the wedding? I do. All new couples fight, Ron, but you're putting too much pressure on yourself.”  
“We're not exactly a new couple though, are we?”  
“Yes you are. You've never been together for extended periods of time. So you're old but you're still so new. And whilst you've got a baby mucking up your hormones...” she shook her head. “It was never going to be easy, Ron. Is it at least enjoyable?”  
  
Ron couldn't help the smile which spread over his lips then. “Oh yeah.”  
  
-  
  
He'd never been happier to take his clothes off, Ron thought, and that included the time that he and Harry had found themselves trapped on a mission in a five star hotel out of the blue. He'd spent much of those two days naked.  
  
“D'you remember the time we got 'trapped' in that amazing hotel spa in the New Forest for work?” he asked over his shoulder as he unbuttoned the front of his robes. “And we just had sex and sex and sex and _more_ sex? And champagne. So much champagne.”  
  
Harry didn't answer but Ron could hear him still in the room.  
  
“And we broke the bed on the second day and propped it up with the Bible because we weren't supposed to be using magic?”  
  
He turned around and started when he found Harry standing just a few feet away from him, staring with angry eyes.  
  
“What... okay, so, not a happy memory for you?” He frowned.  
“It's one of the happiest memories I have,” Harry said coldly.  
“Then what's wrong?” Ron stepped forward, arms extended, but Harry backed away.  
  
Immediately thinking back through the night, Ron searched for what he could have done wrong.  
  
“I had a really good time tonight,” Harry said curtly. He folded his arms over his chest. “Until I turned around and saw you all over Hermione on the dance floor.”  
  
Ron froze.  
  
“Do you really think I needed to see that? Think the whole fucking world needed to see that?” Harry was evidently cross and Ron swallowed nervously. “The papers are going to have a fucking field day.”  
“It was just a dance?” Ron protested. “It didn't mean anything... you'd gone off to mingle and I thought it'd pass the time until you were ready to leave.”  
  
Harry shook his head. “It didn't seem like nothing. The look on your faces, like nothing had changed and you were there, discussing how everyone around you was below you like you always fucking used to!”  
  
Ron stood with his mouth open, watching as Harry reached up and messed up his hair. He looked delicious, but it wasn't the moment.  
  
“Harry, c'mon - Hermione and I were the least likely couple to judge anyone else,” he said finally. “She's a bossy know-it-all and I'm thick as two short planks.”  
“Well, whether you meant to or not, that's how you made people feel.”  
“What people?” Ron demanded. “And why am I only just hearing about this now?”  
  
Harry shook his head and began to roughly pull open his robes. He looked deeply unhappy as he pulled them up over his head and threw them in a ball on the clothes chair. Ron watched as he then stomped to the bathroom and turned the lights on. He heard running water in the bath and Harry didn't reappear.  
  
Ron continued undressing himself, waiting for Harry to come back to have the last word – and Harry _always_ had to have the last word. He didn't have to wait long.  
  
“Do you get a kick out of humiliating me?” he demanded. “I mean... was that fun for you? Making me look the fucking gooseberry again even though you're meant to be mine now? Turning me into some kind of... fucking... cuckold?!”  
“A what-old?” Ron asked, confused.  
  
Harry huffed in annoyance and then made a throttling motion with his hands.  
  
“I wasn't trying to humiliate you!” Ron threw after him, as Harry turned back to the bathroom.  
  
Ron hopped slightly as he tried to peel off his socks and nearly fell face-first into the carpet. He yelped and managed to save himself using the footboard of the bed, but Harry appeared in the doorway to the en-suite looking concerned.  
  
“All right?” he asked.  
“Yeah. Just some of my patented Ronald Weasley Class.” Ron straightened up and put one hand on his back to rub it. “Fuck. I need to go to bed.”  
  
Harry watched him closely as Ron rubbed his distended belly with his free hand.  
  
“You look so... pregnant...” Harry breathed.  
  
Ron snorted. “No shit.”  
  
Harry's tense expression finally melted into something softer – not a smile, but something no longer as angry as it had been.  
  
“Fancy a bath?” he asked. “I used the nice bubbles. The one to help with the stretch marks.”  
  
Despite the complete one-eighty from fighting to sharing a bath, Ron moaned happily and nodded. His bump was growing and his skin looked awful. It seemingly had no elasticity, but then he didn't know why he was surprised. His body just wanted to reject the pregnancy on all levels.  
  
“Nothing would make me happier right now,” he said.  
“What about if you had a cheeseburger in the bath whilst drinking wine?”  
“Oh, fuck's sake Harry, you can't compare it with scenarios that can't happen! Don't smash my fantasies...” he implored.  
“Okay, that was a low blow. Come on.”  
  
Ron allowed Harry to lead him into the bathroom and kept his eyes down as Harry took off his last few garments. He didn't want to see himself in the mirror. He'd not looked at himself naked for weeks – Harry had been the one to bring up the stretch marks.  
  
“Hang on, I need to check the temperature of that!” Harry said sharply, as Ron lifted up a leg to get into the bath. “Can't be too hot, could hurt the baby.”  
  
Ron smiled to himself as he allowed Harry to fuss over the water for a few minutes.  
  
“Fine, in...” Harry gestured at the bath. “I'll be back.”  
  
Settling himself into the perfumed bubbles, Ron appreciated the sensation of the silky warmth washing around his body. The house was completely silent and even the city beyond the open window seemed to be unnaturally quiet.  
  
He let out his first comfortable breath of the evening and slumped back to rest against the bath. Harry's footsteps announced his return and then he was there, laden with tankards of warm Butterbeer and some sandwiches.  
  
“I couldn't arsed to go and get you a cheeseburger,” he explained, straightening up. “So, I made you a beef sandwich with gherkins, onions, cheese and ketchup, and then I heated it up. So it's sort of a burger, sort of not. It might also be gross and please don't feel obligated to eat it if it makes you feel sick!”  
  
Ron eagerly took the plate and bit into the sandwich. “Oh my god.” His words were muffled by the food. “This is amazing!”  
  
Harry smiled to himself and got into the bath himself, Butterbeer in hand. Ron accepted his own cup and paused in chomping to take a mouthful.  
  
“So good,” he moaned.  
  
Harry toasted him silently with his tankard and waited for him to finish, which was an embarrassingly short amount of time given how starving he was. Eventually Ron wiped the corners of his mouth and gulped some more Butterbeer. He slumped back again and swallowed.  
  
“Thank you,” he said finally. “That was ten kinds of amazing.”  
“You're welcome,” Harry said cordially.  
  
Ron spent a few minutes working some beef out of his teeth before realising that Harry was still staring at him.  
  
“Harry. It was just a dance. It... we were both struggling. It was the first time ever that either of us have been to one of those sodding things without the other.”  
“But you were there with _me_ ,” Harry protested. “For the first time. I know it was your first time without her but it was your first time with me... but you ended up with her.”  
  
“You said you wanted to mingle!” Ron cried.  
  
“I know, and I wanted you to mingle with me but I didn't ask because you were pulling your robes out of shape making sure they didn't show off the baby.” Harry shrugged. “I didn't think you'd want to, and I was fine with that... I just didn't think that you'd end up bloody... dancing. With _her_.”  
  
The spite in Harry's tone made Ron's chest hurt.  
  
“Whoa. Harry. Come on. Do we have an issue here?”  
“I have an issue here,” Harry said glumly, hanging his head. “I'm sorry but I do. I just... after all this time, we're together, but you still ended up with her tonight.”  
“For a dance. Can I point out who's filthy bathwater I'm sharing right now?”  
“Mine, but...” Harry cut off.  
  
Ron reached out and touched his hand to Harry's knee under the water. “But what?” he prompted.  
  
“You're only here sharing my bathwater because I refused to help you abort the baby you didn't want. If it hadn't been for the baby would you ever have made the jump, Ron? Would you ever have left her?”  
  
Ron sat like a rabbit in the headlights as Harry waited for his answer. When it wasn't forthcoming, he shook his beautiful dark head and sipped bitterly from his Butterbeer.  
  
“No, didn't think so.”  
“Harry.”  
“I just feel a bit... second-rate. And tonight when you just went right back to her, it was like I was being proved right.”  
“I'm sorry,” Ron said loudly, and squeezed Harry's knee tightly. “I'm sorry for making you feel that way. I had no idea. And if it means that much to you, I won't touch Hermione ever again.”  
“That's not what I...”  
“Isn't it though?” Ron grimaced. “Kinda sounds like it is. But we _are_ divorced, Harry. She's not my wife any more and you're right... I danced with her tonight and the papers will have a fucking field day with that. I didn't think of you first, and I'm sorry. Really sorry.”  
  
He ran out of things to say then and shrugged slightly.  
  
“You've got a foam moustache,” Harry pointed out sheepishly.  
“I rock it,” Ron dismissed.  
“You do,” Harry agreed.  
  
“So... fight over?” Ron asked hopefully. “I hate fighting, Harry. I love you.”  
“I know.”  
“I didn't mean to ruin your night.”  
“I know that too. Do you think I make burger sandwiches for people who ruin my nights on purpose?”  
“Depends if you spat in them without telling me.”  
  
Harry's laugh echoed around the bathroom. Ron drank some more Butterbeer. He felt oddly vulnerable sitting naked and wet across from Harry, who still didn't look completely appeased. He tried to slide down slightly but that only caused the top of his bump and his knees to break the surface of the water. Harry's eyes slid over his body without shame.  
  
“I can't just cut her out of my life,” Ron said quietly.  
“I'm not asking you to. Just... just think. Before you do things like that. You accused me a few weeks ago of not thinking of you, and the baby, and I agreed with you. Now I'm asking you to think about me, and the baby too, and what we're trying to become here. A family.”  
“I never stop thinking about the fucking baby,” Ron muttered. “But... I do see where you're coming from.”  
  
Harry nodded and reached out to wash some bubbles over Ron's belly.  
  
“I was going to save this... but I think you should know now,” Ron said, feeling bubbles inside again. “I booked an appointment to go for a sexing scan. Friday at ten. I checked your diary and blocked it out with your secretary too. I'm not going without you.”  
“I thought you didn't want to know?” Harry asked, quite clearly touched.  
  
Ron shrugged and tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. “Can't ignore it forever, and I know you want to know, so... I thought we should do it. I'm... I'm kind of looking forward to it.”  
  
He was, but it didn't stop him blushing at having to admit it. When he glanced back at Harry, his face was full of emotion.  
  
***  
  
Ron looked at his watch again, unsure of whether he wanted to explode with rage or cry. It was three minutes to ten and Harry was nowhere to be seen. He was sitting in Maternity waiting room at St Mungo's, wearing a jumper that was too thick for the weather outside because it nicely hid his bump.  
  
It didn't stop the gawking though – the Prophet had hammered that nail in the coffin well and truly. Everyone who saw him knew why he was there. Most people found encouraging smiles for him, but a select few looked at him with unadulterated revulsion.  
  
Ron couldn't blame them, given that he was pretty repulsed himself. He hadn't willingly looked in a mirror whilst naked since the night Harry first pointed out that his body had changed. It was bad enough looking down and seeing it, let alone on his reflection.  
  
_One minute to go – where the fuck are you?_  
  
He exhaled hard through puffed cheeks and stroked the arms of the chair. There was no way he'd go through with it if Harry wasn't there with him.  
  
That also just about summed up his entire life, which depressed him.  
  
Ron looked up and down the corridor, straining his ears for the sounds of hurrying feet, but the ward was quiet and he sadly watched the second hand on his watch tip over to ten.  
  
“Just fucking great,” he muttered under his breath.  
  
In front of him, a door swung open and a MediWitch poked her head out. “Mr Weasley?”  
“Can you we wait just five minutes?” he begged. “I think my Harry – I mean, my boyfriend must have been caught up at work.”  
“Five minutes, but no more – we've got a full clinic starting at eleven, and we managed to squeeze you in on doctor's orders.” She gave him a knowing smile. “But we can't wait any longer than that.”  
  
Ron nodded and settled back down to wait.  
  
He somehow knew, however, that Harry wasn't going to make it. When the five minutes had elapsed, he clenched his hand into a fist and tried to keep from exploding right there in the corridor. The door opened again and the MediWatch shook her head apologetically.  
  
“We really should make a start, Mr Weasley – we might have trouble with the image and you'll have questions of course. I think you should come in.”  
  
Ron opened his mouth to argue for more time but no words came out. He got to his feet and passed the witch holding the door open. The room was bright and airy, with a bed and a large curtain running round it.  
  
“Might be easier if you pop your jeans off,” the MediWitch commented. “And then just up onto the bed and lie back for me. You look a little anxious.”  
“I am,” Ron admitted, toeing off his trainers and then dropping his jeans.  
  
It felt so odd to be half-naked somewhere that wasn't his own house. He tried not to blush as he got up onto the bed, trying equally hard to keep his movements graceful and dignified. When he finally laid down he let out a little grunt of contentment. The MediWitch started asking him general check-up questions, which he answered. Then she asked if she could feel his bump; that was when his pulse kicked up a few notches and he began to sweat.  
  
“Would you be more comfortable if I went and asked one of my male colleagues to do this?” the witch asked sympathetically. “This can't be easy.”  
“No... it's nothing to do with that. I'm just...” Ron shrugged helplessly. “I've avoided this for two months, and I did it for Harry, and he's not even bothered to show up. And now, bollocks to this, I'm crying? What the hell?!”  
  
Ron reached up and swiped painfully at his eyes with his fingers.  
  
“Here.”  
  
He took the box of tissues, wiped his eyes properly and then blew his nose.  
  
“Thank you,” he murmured, ashamed of himself.  
“Don't be silly.” The MediWitch smiled. “Are you ready to see this baby?”  
“No,” Ron answered honestly. “I'm not. But I'm here now and I've got my legs out for you, so you might as well just do it.”  
“Sure?” she checked one last time, a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.  
“Go for it.” Ron forced as much bravado as he could muster into his tone.  
  
_Grow a pair, Weasley._  
  
“Yeah. Go for it,” he repeated, nodding hard.  
  
Earning another smile, he tried to relax and waited. The room was freezing.  
  
“Okay. So. The way this works is that I cast a spell which throws up an image of what's inside you... Muggles do this with sonography but we can do it with just a spell which takes that picture and puts it up...” she flicked her wand in an abrupt upward motion and Ron stared. “Here.”  
  
He was faced with the thing in his stomach which had turned his life upside down. His baby. The image was crystal clear and sparkling slightly as it shimmered in mid-air.  
  
“No problems getting an image here today then!” the MediWitch said cheerfully. “All looks fantastic, nice size... and... as you can probably tell because there's nothing there, you're the proud owner of a tiny baby girl.”  
  
“A g-girl?” Ron stammered incredulously, as if he'd never heard of such a thing before.  
“Surprised?”  
  
He was, not that he'd ever really given much thought to the sex.  
  
“That's so... clear,” he breathed, sitting up to look more closely at the image. As he squashed his belly slightly, the baby moved in the image, clearly unhappy with his position.  
  
“Wow,” he whispered.  
“Amazing, isn't it?” the witch beamed. “And now I can fix it to some photography paper, and you've got it to keep.”  
  
She sounded like she was handing him the earth dipped in gold. Ron wasn't sure what he was feeling – if he was feeling anything. Delightful numbness seemed to be the order of the day.  
  
“I can't believe Harry missed this,” was all he could think of to say.  
“I'm sorry we couldn't wait, but honestly, you don't want to get trampled by the postnatal lot. They all bring their other kids and believe me, it's bedlam.”  
  
Ron nodded and watched as she sorted out the photo. Eventually he swung his legs off the bed and started to re-dress. It was all over so quickly – just like that, the baby in his body had a sex and he had another list as long as his arm of things to worry about.  
  
“She won't have a mother,” he said quietly to himself.  
“What's that, dear?” the MediWitch asked. “Oh now, come on. It doesn't matter what combination of parents a baby has as long as they're loved just as fiercely.”  
  
She gently patted his shoulder.  
  
“Can I get you a cup of tea before you set off?” she asked kindly. “And maybe some biscuits?”  
“I just want to go home,” Ron explained. He took the photograph in its hospital envelope when she handed it over. “Thanks. For your time.”  
  
She waved him off looking concerned, but Ron was relieved when she didn't drag him back into the room and make him talk. He slipped the photo into his bag and set off down the corridor, his legs feeling just like jelly.  
  
He was terrified but also exhilarated. A daughter. He was having a _daughter._  
  
The world swam a little as he took that in properly. He'd put the scan off for so long to avoid that very moment – the moment where it all became so real that he could no longer pretend that nothing was happening. And that's what he'd been doing, sticking his head in the sand to avoid reality. Avoid his baby.  
  
_Our baby._  
  
He had so needed Harry to be there for that moment, but he was nowhere to be seen.  
  
Feeling intensely emotional and overwhelmed, Ron swallowed painfully and blinked hard and fast to try and clear his vision. He needed to get home before he fell to pieces. He made it to the ward door and pulled it open. The corridor outside was quiet.  
  
“Ron!” Harry's shout sounded more out of place for the lack of activity. “Hey.”  
  
Harry managed to skid to a stop in front of him and, on setting eyes on him, Ron found himself full of ragged, blistering fury.  
  
“I'm sorry,” Harry blustered. “I am. I'm so sorry, Ron, I got-”  
“I don't want to hear it,” Ron ground out.  
“I'm-”  
“I SAID I DON'T _FUCKING_ WANT TO HEAR IT!” Ron bellowed at him.  
  
The colour leached out of Harry's face.  
  
Ron didn't want to cause a scene – or more of a scene than he already had – but he found that he was shaking, he was _that_ angry. People were staring but for the first time in months he didn't care.  
  
Abruptly he realised that all he wanted was to be as far away from Harry as possible. He started to back away but Harry grabbed his arm.  
  
“Don't touch me.”  
“Ron-”  
“Just... leave it, Harry. I need to not look at you right now, or-”  
“Ron, please, just listen to me-”  
“NO. You listen to _me_. I'm sick and tired of this. Back and forth. Roundabout. Either you're in this or you're out of it, because this shit is _real_.”  
  
He tugged the envelope out of his bag and thrust it at Harry's chest.  
  
“ _She's_ real. Meet your daughter.”  
  
Harry dropped the photo through clumsy, dumbstruck fingers; Ron laughed and shook his head. He turned away and kept going, putting one foot in front of the other until he knew Harry wasn't behind him any more.  
  
He waited, wondering if there'd be footsteps behind him, but there was nothing. With his tears spilling over, he sniffed deeply and set off again.  
  
-  
  
It was harder, Ron thought, to know what he needed to calm him down but not be able to have than to not know at all. He perhaps could have just gone and completely disregarded the conversation from the bath. He certainly wanted to hurt Harry, but running to Hermione could cause irreparable damage.  
  
Yet it was her that he wanted so viscerally that he was aching all over. Just a hug would have done.  
  
Instead he sat alone in their favourite cafe with the twinkly lights and the amazing cake. It was as near as he dared to get to her. He sipped at his tea and looked miserably out of the window where the view was lit by spring sunshine. His cake sat untouched because he had no appetite whatsoever, but they'd asked if he wanted his usual and he'd just said yes for ease.  
  
Ron desperately wanted someone to sit with but he knew he couldn't go to Hermione, didn't want to go to the Burrow after everything that had transpired and knew he still he couldn't stomach the sight of Harry.  
  
He took a vicious bite of cake as he started to think about what had happened all over again.  
  
He felt terrible for the way he'd broken the news of the baby's sex, but he'd been angry and hurt and his mouth had run away from him. He would apologise for that when he got the chance - but not the sentiment.  
  
Propping his chin on the heel of his hand, Ron wondered how he'd ended up in the middle of a cafe mid-afternoon. He felt like he should be at work, surrounded by life and magic. Instead he was surrounded by gaggles of mothers with babies in prams and old couples reading the paper. He was only twenty-eight. He felt over a hundred.  
  
It was all the worse for knowing that nobody could make it feel better other than the one person he couldn't go to, because it wouldn't be fair on her, Harry or even himself when it really boiled down to it.  
  
He hadn't had to process anything horrible without Hermione since they were eleven. Since the troll incident. He felt hopelessly incompetent without her. He had imagined that should he and Harry ever manage to pull off the impossible and end up living together, Harry would immediately slide into Hermione's place – his lover, his protector, his everything.  
  
What confused him most was that Harry already felt everything to him, but in the context of their fight and all the fights they kept on having, he wasn't sure if it was true. Or was he just confused, trapped by the pregnancy and unable to untangle what was going on in his mind?  
  
Ron let out a frustrated groan; at that exact moment, a lady on the next table's tea cup cracked in half in her hands. She cried out as tea splashed everywhere and she flung the two halves of the cup to the floor in shock.  
  
He knew then it was time to leave. His magic had surged and caused the accident and he didn't want to hurt anybody. Ron grabbed his bag and the rest of his slice of cake and made for the door. Nobody noticed him leave in the kerfuffle over the spilt tea and broken china, and he welcomed the fresh air into his lungs as he hit the pavement.  
  
There was nowhere else to go but home.  
  
***  
  
Ron had forgotten just how excellent Harry was at delivering the silent treatment, and how soul-crushing it was to be ignored by him.  
  
He'd returned home to Grimmauld with aching feet and a sore head ready to apologise for the things he'd shouted, but when he'd got there the house had been in darkness and their bedroom door had been locked. He had retreated to the room Teddy had used during his stay, closed the door, the curtains and his heart and curled up for a night of sleepless wallowing.  
  
The next day he'd tried again, finding Harry gone and presumably at work. When Harry returned home, he went straight to bed and locked the door again.  
  
The day after that, Ron had knocked on the door and asked to talk. Again no response had come but Harry hadn't bothered to go to work at all.  
  
Ron was sitting at the massive kitchen table wondering what he could do to make Harry talk to him again. He'd been through all the phases – including anger, where he wanted to go and tell Harry to stick everything up his arse, that he was getting an abortion and was leaving.  
  
Sense had prevailed, however, and Ron was glad. He still didn't know what to do, though. The gentle pat of footsteps in the hallway made him jump. He'd grown used to pootling around the house like a ghost on his own.  
  
Harry appeared in the doorway, sporting several days' worth of stubble and dark rings under his eyes. Ron jumped to his feet but didn't know what to do. Mostly he wanted to sit on Harry so he couldn't lock himself away again.  
  
“Hi,” Harry said stiffly, coming to stop on the other side of the table.  
“Hey.” Ron nervously licked his bottom lip.  
“We should-”  
“Yeah, we should...”  
  
Ron gave him a crooked smile. Harry just stared back. Ron sat back down and tried to summon a jug of apple juice and two glasses. The jug made it but the glasses both smashed on the flagstone floor of the kitchen. Harry didn't move to clean them up. He just sat down.  
  
“Straw?” Ron offered tiredly.  
“S'pose it'll save on the glassware.” Harry summoned two glasses himself despite what he'd said.  
  
Neither of them poured drinks.  
  
“So it turns out, being yelled at by your pregnant boyfriend in the middle of a hospital is pretty humiliating,” Harry said airily.  
“And being stood up to find out the sex of your baby is equally as humiliating,” Ron said. “And shitty.”  
“So shitty.” Harry moaned the words and tipped his face into his hands. “I'm sorry, Ron.”  
“I'm sorry too. I'm sorry for what I... with the scan picture. I'm sorry. About that. I'm not really that sorry about what I said though, truth be told.”  
  
Harry peered up at him from between his fingers. “You were right to be angry.”  
“And you were right to have your strop.” Ron shrugged. “Is that it, are we done now?”  
  
He was hopeful that their fight might just fizzle out, like so many had before it, but he could tell that there was something different about Harry's expression – an expression of slightly haggard resilience.  
  
“I guess we didn't think very much about what this whole thing would involve, did we?” he said finally. “How... _hard_ it was going to be. To make this work.”  
“No.” Ron wholly agreed, but fear started to prickle in him that Harry might not want to make it work. Might want to end it. “But... we can get through this, Harry. We still have time before the baby's born.”  
“I know.”  
  
Ron thought he was going for the jug but instead Harry laid one hand over Ron's. Their fingers laced together.  
  
“I hate not speaking to you,” Ron whispered. “It feels so fucking wrong. Like I'm missing an arm or my kidneys or something.”  
“Your kidneys?” Harry asked, faintly amused.  
“You know what I mean.”  
  
Ron playfully stuck his tongue out at Harry and earned a proper smile in return.  
  
“I missed you,” Harry said. “You won't believe how much.”  
“Bet I will. I hate being apart from you.”  
“I s'pose maybe that's what's going to keep us working on this.”  
“That and our daughter,” Ron said pointedly.  
  
Harry's cheeks flushed with colour then. “I can't believe it. A girl. I thought boy for some reason.”  
“Me too. No idea why.”  
  
Harry looked at him then with such a blinding visage of love that Ron felt himself grow hot under it.  
  
“She's going to have such a hard time getting a boyfriend,” Harry laughed. “Two dads to contend with. Both of them us.”  
“She could have a girlfriend,” Ron pointed out.  
“Very true. God, it's weird thinking about stuff like that. That far in the future.”  
“I've been thinking about it for ages... why d'you think I was so terrified?!”  
  
Harry nodded thoughtfully and squeezed Ron's hand.  
  
“I'm not going to miss a thing, Ron. I promise you.”  
“Things happen, Harry... and yes, it really hurt and it pushed me over the edge. But you can't be there all the time. Like with the suicide attempt... you couldn't watch me afterward and you can't watch me now.”  
“But I knew you were still safe,” Harry said. “My watch. It's stopped being an actual watch because I've worn it in the shower for weeks and weeks.”  
“You idiot, there are charms for that!”  
“Fair point. I _am_ an idiot.” Harry snorted.  
  
Ron sucked in a deep breath, ready to feel lighter when he released it. As he did, however, a sharp pain floored him, taking his breath away all over again.  
  
“What is it?” Harry asked.  
  
Struggling to breathe, all Ron could do was shake his head.  
  
It felt like someone was tearing him apart, but he couldn't tell from which end or with what.  
  
“Hospital?”  
  
Ron nodded.  
  
-  
  
“I am soooooooooo high right now,” Ron breathed, blinking happily up at the ceiling.  
  
He was too drugged to care that he was back in the hospital. That what had nearly happened would have killed him if it weren't for Harry's quick thinking and their instant channel to the hospital.  
  
He wanted to care about the forlorn, broken look on Harry's face – a face which clearly wanted to take his pain away. Ron was so doped up that he thought Harry seemed almost comical.  
  
Everything was hilarious.  
  
Everything was blurred and a tiny bit shiny.  
  
Everything might have been completely fucked, but he was too off his face to know it.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry suddenly realises that everyone is imagining a future for them that he's not given a single thought to. And that's scary.

**Harry**  
  
Harry winced as he chugged back the last of his hospital canteen coffee. It tasted awful but he was shattered and he needed to be awake. He had a feeling Ron was about to get even worse news than he'd already had, and Harry wanted to be on top of his game for him.  
  
The baby had been saved by the skin of their collective teeth. Harry had tried hard to ban the words 'excessive foetal distress' from his mind but they kept creeping in and frightening him all over again.  
  
Ron too had been a shade closer to death than Harry was able to process. He'd seen Ron's death expression once before, the day of his seventeenth birthday when for just that one horrible, gut-wrenching second, Ron had stopped breathing after being poisoned. His face had been colourless, his lips blue; long, lean body impossibly limp. Harry's fingers started to shake and he clenched them in a tight fist.  
  
He had to stay focussed. For Ron.  
  
He'd had a lot of time to berate himself mentally about all the things he'd not done right so far in their relationship. Pushing on with the pregnancy had been at the top of that list, until one of the Healers had called in a little support from Ron's sometimes therapist.  
  
As he'd pointed out, Ron had _chosen_ to continue the pregnancy. He'd had ample time to change his mind. It was not all Harry's fault.  
  
 _Apparently._  
  
“So.”  
  
Harry didn't like the sound of that 'so'. He straightened up in his seat and looked around the small hospital room which had become Ron's own. There were touches of themselves all over it, with blankets – the original from Ron's bed at Hogwarts – and mounds of chocolate and sweet treats. The hospital had given up trying to lecture them all on the point of a healthy diet. They'd had to concede that any calories that Ron could consume would help.  
  
“We're at a crossroads here.”  
“Yeah, you've said,” Ron said hoarsely.  
  
He was propped up on pillows and a prayer. He looked like he might just keel over again. Harry reached out and took his hand to give it a squeeze. Ron didn't look at him, but was staring intently at the head of the Maternity department, waiting for him to continue.  
  
“The long and short of this is, unfortunately, that you are now consigned to complete bed rest. And we don't feel that we're able to treat you effectively at home. So...” He took a deep breath. “You stay in hospital for the next two months, or we discuss termination.”  
  
Harry looked at Ron.  
  
“I'm not allowed out of here at all? Am I allowed out of this room?”  
“Only in a wheelchair, and not beyond the hospital walls.”  
“This is insane,” Ron protested. “I'm fine. Or... I can be fine. Harry. Help me up and we can show them how fine I am!”  
  
Ron attempted to swing his legs out of the bed but, unfortunately for his ''I'm fine” argument, he recoiled in pain.  
  
“The complete separation of the pubic bone will do that,” the Healer offered sadly.  
  
Harry had tried to block out the finer details of that, too.  
  
He settled Ron back into bed and then perched on the edge, feeling that staying close would be best for both of them.  
  
“I appreciate the strain this will put on your relationship.”  
“Yeah, that and my bloody sanity,” Ron muttered. “I can't be in here for a week without going barmy, let alone two fucking months.”  
  
Harry didn't bother to chastise him for his poor language; he felt Ron was perfectly justified in turning the air blue. The thought of having to visit him in hospital for two months was bad enough, let alone actually _being_ in hospital for so long.  
  
“What if I went home, but, like, you tied me to be bed?” Ron suggested weakly, grasping at straws. “Then you'd know I was resting.”  
  
The Healer smiled in response but shook his head. Finally out of daft suggestions, Ron turned to Harry.  
  
“I'm going to lose my mind in here,” he said softly. “I mean... c'mon, Harry.”  
“But what then? Lose the baby after all this? After everything you've already been through?”  
“I know.”  
“I will go with whatever you want. Need.” Harry shrugged helplessly. “I'm not the one in agony, or the one stuck here.”  
“No, you're just the one who'll have to live on his own and do everything and prepare for the baby alone and have no sex.”  
“I'm pretty sure that even with you home we wouldn't be having sex,” Harry pointed out.  
  
Ron opened his mouth to argue when the Healer cut in.  
  
“We'll give you some time to discuss this.”  
“No.” Ron's voice was loud, but he didn't look away from Harry. “No need for that. I'm staying put. If I have to be here until this bloody baby is out of me then I'll be here. I'm not giving up now. We'll just have to cope.”  
  
Harry wished the Healers _weren't_ there, because something akin to roaring pride was rising within him. He wanted to grab Ron in a hug but knew that would hurt him, so he didn't. Instead he bent his head and kissed his hand instead. “Yep. We'll cope.”  
  
“Okay then. If you're in for the long haul you might want to think about having some more things brought in from home. You can keep this room, for the privacy and to have some sense of normality.”  
“Thanks. Can I have some non-itchy bedsheets?” Ron asked hopefully. “These things are fucking horrible.”  
“I'm sure that can be arranged,” the Healer said, wearing a tiny smile.  
  
Harry knew that despite the medical miracle aspect of Ron's condition, the Healer _liked_ the obstinate, sweary redhead in his care. Most people did.  
  
“Whatever you need,” the Healer said finally, and then directed everybody out of the door.  
  
Harry waited until it had been closed behind them before he spoke.  
  
“You're sure?”  
“Shut up before I change my bloody mind!” Ron moaned, letting his head fall back on his pillows. “I need to wee but I know how much it's going to hurt if I get up.”  
  
He let the mask fall that he'd been wearing whilst the Healers were present. Harry saw then a very different man, one who was clearly in a great deal of pain but managing to somehow bear it. Ron couldn't always successfully keep up the facade, however, and Harry had mopped up his fair share of tears since admission.  
  
Again, he thought Ron was entitled to every single snotty tissue.  
  
“I've got to, haven't I?” Ron said with finality. “I've got to try.”  
  
***  
  
Frustrated, Harry growled out a moan to the duvet and dropped it back down onto the bed.  
  
He had been foolishly stunned at how much effort it took to keep Grimmauld Place habitable. Ron had somehow been doing it by himself, pregnant, without complaint since Christmas. Harry was out of breath simply trying to change the bedding.  
  
“How do Muggles even do this?!” He cried out loud.  
  
Mercifully at the time, changing the beds was a task that his Aunt Petunia had never entrusted to him. He'd never been allowed in his aunt and uncle's bedroom – he'd always told himself that they didn't want his germs before he'd known about his magic.  
  
Older, he supposed perhaps it was that Petunia hadn't wanted him contaminating her things with his freakishness – with memories of what his very presence brought up.  
  
As such, he felt woefully inept at trying to wrangle the king-sized duvet into the new quilt set he'd bought earlier that day when out fulfilling Ron's request for sheets which weren't 'fucking shitty and itchy as hell'.  
  
Ron's resolve had lasted about three hours before he'd had a minor meltdown about his commitment to staying in hospital until the baby was born. Harry had expected it, though perhaps not quite as soon as it had come. He was amassing a nice pile of things to take in with him that evening. He'd felt guilty about leaving Ron in the hospital alone but the reality was that he was making his own eyes water with his stench.  
  
He'd left for a hot shower, a decent kip, some food and to try and sort everything out. He'd not been back to the hospital for a whole twenty-four hours.  
  
As he sat down he couldn't remember why changing the bed had seemed so vital. After all it would only be him sleeping in it and he really didn't care whether the bed stank of stale sweat or not.  
  
 _And you swore you'd never keep up appearances._  
  
Falling down onto his back on the half-made bed, Harry closed his eyes. He'd not expected to miss Ron with such ardour. He knew that he could go downstairs, use the Floo and be by the redhead's side in minutes. But it wasn't enough. That distance of time and miles was still too much to cope with. They had two whole months of being apart to deal with; he didn't think the hospital would allow him to move in nor would work tolerate his extended absence indefinitely.  
  
All he'd had to say to Kingsley was 'I nearly lost them.' Harry assumed that the moisture in his eyes and the tightness of his throat had been enough to tell their mutual boss that he was very much agonised by the possibility. That he was no longer readily cavalier enough to throw himself at a dangerous mission because Ron was everything, and he'd nearly been lost.  
  
“Fuck's sake.” Harry sniffed deeply to himself and, as he tried very hard to do, reminded himself of the positives – that Ron and baby were still with him, and that they were doing their utmost to stay that way.  
  
Being alone in his huge, empty house again didn't exactly lend itself to positivity, though. Left alone he had time to think not just of Ron and the future, but Ginny and the past. The flaming rows they'd had all over the house.  
  
Most of the time he just found himself swamped with the overwhelming need to ask the adults who should have been there in his life, supporting them both, what they thought of it all. How Sirius would react to him being gay and in love with Ron. What kindness Remus would impart. And most importantly of all, how excited his parents would have been to meet their grandchild and to welcome Ron into their family as a son-in-law.  
  
Or he hoped they would have been excited. “And the pisser is I'll never fucking know.”  
  
He forced himself to sit up; Harry didn't want to get maudlin again.  
  
Truth be told, he he was afraid that if he fell down in the darkness he wouldn't get back up again.  
  
-  
  
Shattered, Harry chucked his bulging bag on the kitchen table. He'd bought more of Ron's favourite snacks and drinks to take in with him but had nearly forgotten them. He was so tired again that he had no idea if the house looked better or worse than when he'd started on it.  
  
He grabbed handfuls of sweet packets and chocolate bars and turned to stuff them in the waiting bag. The Floo dinged.  
  
“Enter,” he muttered.  
  
Hermione appeared, looking as tired as Harry felt.  
  
“I'm just off to see Ron,” he said bluntly.  
  
He was desperate for a cuddle. Anything, really. He didn't want Hermione to hold him up.  
  
“Oh, are you? I'll come with you.”  
  
Harry fell silent as he packed sweets into every tiny hole he could find in the bag. He hoped she would interpret his silence accurately.  
  
“Or not,” she added quietly. “I did want to talk to the both of you together, though. Could I maybe drop by tomorrow night? There's something we need to discuss.”  
“Not if it's going to upset him. He can't be upset right now. You know what the Healers said.”  
“It's... well. I don't think it's going to, but I suppose you never know. He's so ill and he hates that hospital so much. The amount of times I was half-dressed and about to leave for a bedside vigil and he arrived home because he'd discharged himself against medical advice.”  
  
Hermione shook her head and folded her arms over her chest. She started to drift around the kitchen, clearly in no hurry to leave which only pushed Harry's temper further.  
  
“What is it?” he asked finally. “Tell me now. Then we decide if Ron needs to hear it or not.”  
“You're censoring his conversations?” Hermione asked, slightly incredulously. “He's twenty-eight, Harry, not three.”  
“Tell me,” he repeated.  
  
Hermione looked at him imploringly for a moment, before sighing and looking down at her feet.  
  
“I have an opportunity which I would be mad to pass up. Truly mad. This is... more than anything I could have hoped for.”  
“What?” Harry really wasn't in the mood for long-winded stories or flights of fancy. “Get to the point.”  
  
Hermione allowed herself a very small smile when she spoke again. “I've been asked to consider accepting the position of Deputy Minister of Magic.”  
  
For a moment Harry forget how fed up he was and let his jaw hang freely as he stared at Hermione; his brilliant, clever friend whose life he had ruined. He wanted her to be happy and Godric only knew she deserved the promotion, but something nasty in the back of his mind started to hiss like a provoked cat.  
  
“You're angry,” she said sadly. “Oh, Harry... look. I don't want you to think I'm making this move just when you're out of the running-”  
“Whoa, wait! I don't _want_ to be Minister! Not even a deputy. I've never wanted that.”  
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”  
“Like what?”  
“Like you can't bear to but you can't look away either!”  
  
They glared at one another across the kitchen.  
  
“Why do you need to speak to us about it?” Harry asked jerkily. “Do you need Ron to prop you up through the vote? He's a bit busy if you'd not noticed.”  
“No! Of course not! Ron must rest. You must make him, Harry. But no... the reason I wanted to talk through it is because this will be huge. The papers will be all over me like flies and that means...”  
“They'll be all over us too.”  
“And with the baby, and with your relationship still so raw and new...” she shook her head and shrugged. “I just didn't want to say yes without discussing this with you both.”  
  
Harry balanced the last of the confectionery on the top of the bag and put it over his shoulder.  
  
“Ron's with me now. He's in hospital trying not to lose our baby. The papers are already over us like flies to shit. A bit more won't matter.”  
  
“Why are you being like this? So... miserable?”  
“I dunno, maybe it's something to do with nearly losing him and the baby and everything else which is crashing down around my ears at the minute.” Harry hadn't meant to sound so acerbic, but couldn't think of a way to fix it.  
  
“You know I'm here, Harry, don't you?” Hermione stepped forward. “For you. You need support through this.”  
“The last person I'd come to for support is _you_ ,” he scoffed. “Because that wouldn't be fucking awkward at all.”  
  
He heard Hermione's pained little gasp and didn't look up.  
  
“Right. I see. Well. Thanks for your time, Harry.”  
  
Her footsteps to the grate were quick and curt.  
  
“I think you should remind yourself of something.” Hermione's words were rushed – clearly she'd been holding them in for some time. “ _You_ took him away from _me_. You ruined _my_ marriage!”  
“And you had the love of my fucking life!” Harry shouted back. “And he loved us both. Loves. Fuck.”  
  
He chewed on the inside of his cheek.  
  
“And yet you know that, but you stopped him from coming to me when he needed me. When he wanted friendship you couldn't bear the thought of him sharing it with me.”  
“Because you were his wife! He loves you! He had sex with you! He's only with me because of a circumstance. If you were me, would you want him with someone he clearly still has feelings for? Honestly?”  
“Oh and if he lost the baby tomorrow, he'd be back in our house just like that? He'd leave you, would he? No!” Hermione laughed bitterly. “No, Harry. He'd always choose you because he has _always_ chosen you. You won, Harry. Stop sticking the fucking knife in.”  
  
He knew he'd pushed her too far then, to make her use that particular swear word.  
  
He had no response, because he knew that's what he was doing.  
  
“He's a big boy, Harry. He can pick his own battles. If he wants to be my friend he will be to the best of his ability. And I will love him as I always have, whether you're uncomfortable with that or not. I'm sorry. But I can't imagine a world where I won't cherish him. And I won't apologise for that, because you caused it – you broke everything. Everything important in my life you've broken. My education, my relationship with my parents after the obliviation in the war and now my marriage. I'm not fucking sorry!”  
  
She was gone in a whirl of robes and tears before Harry could formulate a proper response. Left alone in the kitchen he felt self-hatred bubbling within him. He had to get to Ron.  
  
And so he apparated quickly, landing in the Auror apparition point with a wobble before breaking into a jog. He was desperate just to see Ron's freckled face, his red hair, smell his skin – he just needed to feel normal again.  
  
He was out of breath by the time he pushed through the doors to the Maternity Unit. The MediWitch on night duty gave him a tired wave and Harry strode to the end of the ward where Ron's room was. He knocked once and then entered. He closed the door and then slumped against it.  
  
“Hey – there you are, I was starting to get worr- Harry?” Ron's brow furrowed with concern. “What's up?”  
  
Harry dropped the bag on the floor and walked over to the bed. Ron looked up at him with wide, worried eyes.  
  
“Can I have a hug?” Harry asked pathetically.  
“Always,” Ron said, clearly dismayed. “C'mere.”  
  
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Harry threw his arms around Ron, ignoring just how much pain he was in for the sake of feeling better. That made him selfish, Harry knew – but perhaps it was true. Perhaps he was just inherently selfish, incapable of considering anybody else.  
  
“Hey now...” Ron hugged him back weakly and kissed Harry's hair. “What's the matter?”  
  
Harry didn't answer but nuzzled against Ron's chest.  
  
“Okay. It's okay,” Ron whispered, and rested his chin on top of Harry's head.  
  
***  
  
“I should go,” Harry murmured. “Otherwise I'll be late.”  
  
Ron grunted in response. It was a bad day and on his bad days of late, even speaking was too much effort.  
  
“Unless you want me to stay?” Harry prompted.  
  
One word from Ron and he wouldn't leave to go to The Burrow. He didn't really want to go, but Molly had invited him round for Sunday lunch and Ron had insisted that he accept. Harry hadn't told Ron about the argument with Hermione but he was starting to get worried about her given that she hadn't visited him in the hospital since.  
  
“I don't want to leave you alone.”  
“Well, I'll be fine.” Ron yawned – his jaw let out a massive crack as it widened. “Ow.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“Yes, get out. Bloody freeloader. I know you just want the chocolate mousse from my lunch.” Ron's eyes narrowed as playfully as his pain would allow. “Mum's cooking is ten times better than anything you'll get in here.”  
“What if I ask her to pack some up for you? And I'll bring it in for your tea?”  
“That would be ten kinds of immense, but I thought you were going home for an early night?”  
  
Harry shrugged.  
  
“See how you feel,” Ron advised, his breath juddering with pain as he laid down properly. “Ow. Ow. Ow.”  
“Want me to get the MediWitch?”  
“I'm fine,” Ron lied.  
“Promise me you'll call for them when I'm gone?” Harry knew Ron wouldn't call for help until he had gone because otherwise he'd never leave.  
“I will.”  
“Promise?”  
“I've said I will!”  
“You didn't actually say the word 'promise' though.”  
“What are we, seven?!”  
“Parts of you are seven.”  
  
Stalling, Harry shot Ron a filthy grin.  
  
“That look. That look is what got me here,” Ron said coldly, gesturing at his swollen stomach and around at the hospital room. “You. And _that_ look.”  
“You weren't complaining at the time as I remember it.”  
  
Shrugging into his jacket, Harry patted for his wand and then sighed.  
  
“Go,” Ron insisted.  
  
Harry shook his head but then blew him a kiss.  
  
“I'd catch that but I'm so t-tired.” Ron yawned again.  
  
His eyes were closed before Harry could shut the door.  
  
-  
  
“How _is_ he?” Molly asked in hushed tones.  
“Probably about the same as when you saw him yesterday,” George said airily.  
  
Harry never failed to marvel how Molly could silence her wayward sons with a simple glare. It was truly masterful. Smiling, he helped himself to a sip of wine and speared another roast potato.  
  
Even though he'd desperately wanted to stay with Ron he had to admit it was nice to be looked after – to have food provided and be around people who wanted to make him smile and laugh.  
  
“I think you're being sorely missed at work,” Arthur said. “Everyone seems to be running around like headless chickens.”  
“He doesn't want to hear that, Dad,” Bill offered. “He'll only feel worse about not being there.”  
“You know what?” Harry put down his fork. “For the first time since I was eighteen I actually _don't_ care.”  
“That's what becoming a father does to you, it changes your priorities,” said Molly. “But then you come out of the haze and remember that bills have to be paid and that you'll have to care again when you really don't want to.”  
  
“Mum, what a cheerful thing to say...” Percy said, wearing a sort of smirk as he looked down at his plate.  
“And anyway, I think George still cares about his job... or at least that's what he told me when he got locked in his own stockroom by a couple of kids last week...” Angelina shot her husband a brilliant smile and waited for his retaliation.  
  
With his one ear looking decidedly pink, George gave a light sniff. “I don't know what you're talking about. I am all about the baby.”  
“How many weeks left?” Harry asked.  
“Due date on Wednesday.” Angelina grimaced, clearly bricking it.  
  
“Be lovely to have another newborn to cuddle again.” Molly sighed. “And then another in a few months. I'm so excited.”  
“She's been knitting for what feels like years,” Arthur complained. “I'm going to hear the clicking of knitting needles in my nightmares when I'm old.”  
  
Collective laughter bounced around the kitchen and Harry felt something loosen in his gut.  
  
 _That'll be my complex about always having to do everything by myself and forgetting everyone around me._  
  
He was really starting to hate that sage voice at the back of his mind.  
  
“So... you and Ron. When will we hear wedding bells?” Bill asked conversationally, as though it was the most normal thing to ask in the world.  
  
Harry choked on his mouthful of beef and Yorkshire Pudding. Audrey had to thump him on the back. Gulping at his wine, Harry had no idea what to say.  
  
“Wedding bells?” He repeated, looking at Bill with wide-eyes.  
“Well, yeah.” George shrugged. “You're having a baby together, you live together... you've done things a bit arse-uppards but really, it's the only thing left, isn't it?”  
  
Blushing horribly, Harry realised everybody was staring at him.  
  
“Have you... have you all been thinking we're going to get married?” His throat hurt from the choking and the wine so the words came out hoarse.  
  
“Well, aren't you?” Molly asked, looking crestfallen.  
“She's already making the banner you see,” Arthur whispered, trying to lighten the mood.  
  
Drinking the last of his wine in massive mouthfuls, Harry desperately tried to think of how to respond. They'd not even discussed it. In the future where they had their child, they lived together happily but they'd not felt the need to factor a wedding into their plans.  
  
“You're having a child together,” Molly went on.  
“Harry not being married to Ron doesn't make him any less of a father to the baby. This magical fuck up is still the product of both of them.” George snorted into his own wine.  
“Language,” Molly threw stonily across the table. “Harry. Come now. Be serious. You must get married.”  
“Ron's just divorced Hermione. It's not right.” It was the only defence Harry could think of.  
“Well perhaps not this year, but next year? Oh, there'd be time to plan, and a summer wedding would be lovely! We could have the marquee outside again and the late light would help with the pictures.”  
  
Harry found himself sitting there open-mouthed again - it seemed to be his default state lately.  
  
“And Harry immediately moves the entire family to Madagascar in three, two, one...” George whispered gleefully.  
“Stop being a twat, George,” Angelina hissed, slapping her husband on the arm.  
“Mum, she said a bad word.” George pouted and then grinned again when Angelina repeated the slap.  
  
The mood had changed and Harry's brief respite was gone. He knew logically that his and Ron's futures were not the business of their family, but his heart was telling him differently. Even though he was twenty-seven he still really hated disappointing Molly, and they'd come a long way from the silence after their relationship had first come out. From no reaction to demanding a wedding.  
  
“There's plenty of time,” Fleur said softly beside him. “Don't worry, 'Arry.”  
“And enough to be getting on with,” Audrey said. “A newborn. You know my thoughts on newborns.”  
“We do,” Percy said loudly, rolling his eyes. “Don't start.”  
“I'm not 'starting'. I'm just saying it isn't the magical time everyone claims it is! Do you remember the fact that she didn't sleep? One time she didn't sleep for days.”  
  
Harry turned his attention back to his roast and was glad of Audrey's moaning distracting everyone from the awkward moment they'd just had.  
  
Marriage. Married. Their family wanted them to get _married._ Harry remembered Ron and Hermione's wedding day like it was yesterday. The way Ron had looked so handsome in his formal robes. The way his face had lit up when Hermione walked down the aisle towards him and the way she'd been glowing when she broke even with him and grabbed his hand.  
  
He'd already been in love with Ron by that point, but he'd not confessed as much. Harry had spent the day torn between insane jealousy and sheer joy. His two best friends in love and married. Ginny by his side.  
  
It had all seemed so _perfect._ Saccharine, but perfect.  
  
And now everything was very, very different.  
  
He slowly cleared his plate and dutifully drank some more wine when his glass was topped up.  
  
-  
  
Some hours later, Harry found himself standing in front of Ron's childhood bedroom door. It still had yellowed paper signs stuck to the wood, telling various people to keep out. He smiled to himself as he slipped inside. The furnace of orange was as startling as ever, but it felt like Ron's arms coming up around him.  
  
He'd spent some of the happiest days of his teenage years in Ron's room. Sleeping on a painful camp bed had been a minor hardship to bear in exchange for Ron's company and the freedom that staying with the Weasleys gave. He shut the door gently behind him and slipped off his trainers. Ron wasn't there but it felt like he was because the room was Ron all over. Still messy, with comics piled up against the walls with tonnes of faded Quidditch posters above them.  
  
He crossed to the bed and sat down on it. As it always had, the springs creaked beneath his weight. He remembered a night they'd shared there as adults, tucked into the single bed against one another so tightly that there was no privacy at all. That was the first night Ron had made him come with his mouth alone. Smiling to himself, Harry pulled the crocheted blanket off the top and put it around his shoulders, smelling dust and young Ron. He happily pulled it tight to his chest and exhaled hard.  
  
He didn't know how or why he'd come up, but he was glad he had. Being in Ron's childhood bedroom was like seeing a private little slice of the man he loved. Where he'd been raised and shaped into the wizard he'd become.  
  
His eyes fell on a photo propped up on the top of a pile of comics. The three of them together. Before Bill's wedding, before he'd transformed into a Weasley cousin for the day. Hermione in lilac, Ron awkward in formal robes. Despite everything they had to do that summer, they still looked happy together. Seeing Ron at seventeen was odd. He had grown into a beautiful man, owning the fire of his hair and the cheeky glints in his eyes and his smile. Even his long nose, which Ron had always prodded glumly and said was ugly, seemed to have settled on his face, defining it and generally making him all the more handsome.  
  
Harry pulled his legs up and laid down. The pillow smelt of dust too but it wasn't unbearable.  
  
Maybe it was the wine, or maybe just everything that had been going on, but he was starting to feel decidedly emotional. He blinked a few times, hoping to get rid of the tears flooding his eyes.  
  
They spilt over and ran down his face onto the pillow. He really hated crying. He'd done it enough after the war and a few times over the past few months since their lives turned upside down. But he'd been trying so hard to keep calm and keep everything inside since Ron's hospital admission.  
  
But nobody was there in the confines of Ron's room – there was nobody to be strong for. Nobody to shame him.  
  
Perhaps it was that Ron's space felt so beautifully safe.  
  
Harry pulled the blanket up over his face.  
  
-  
  
“Oh, love you, look. So peaceful.”  
  
Harry kept his eyes shut. His head was throbbing.  
  
“Harry.” A gentle hand touched his shoulder. “Harry, wake up. It's quite late.”  
“Whattimeizzit?” he mumbled on a dry mouth.  
“Nearly eight in the evening.”  
“Shit.” He tried to sit up but his arm gave way as he pushed up.  
“Just wake up a bit before you rush off.” Molly sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out to stroke his hair.  
  
It was nice. He felt too grown up for it but he didn't stop her. Molly had always been like a mother figure to him, which he supposed was why it had hurt so much during the early part of the pregnancy when they'd not spoken.  
  
“Did you sleep well?” she asked, speaking quietly as if she knew that his head felt like it might explode.  
“I did actually... surprised.”  
“Well, this room has always been a safe place for you. No wonder you slept for so long.”  
  
He hummed in agreement and glanced up out of the window.  
  
“I sent George to the hospital,” Molly said. “I knew you'd want someone there with him and we all agreed you probably could do with the rest.”  
“Thanks Molly.”  
  
Harry managed to blearily sit up and moved to sit next to her. Ron's blanket was still wrapped around his shoulders.  
  
“I'm also sorry about earlier. About... the conversation at dinner. I didn't mean to upset or frighten you. Of course you and Ron have far more important things on your mind at the minute. It was just a shock is all.”  
“It's fine. We just haven't discussed it. I think the baby's enough for now.”  
“Absolutely. You won't hear another word about it from us.”  
  
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, until Harry moaned. “Have you got anything for my head, Molly?”  
“I have everything, as I always do.”  
“Thanks.”  
“Harry?”  
“Mm?”  
“You'd tell us if you were finding this too much, wouldn't you? Staying by yourself, Ron being in the hospital. Impending baby. You know we're here?”  
  
He didn't trust his voice to answer that. He nodded and looked down at his knees.  
  
“I'm going to cook you some meals and stock up the that kitchen in Grimmauld for you. You're not eating properly.”  
  
Harry didn't bother to ask her how she knew that.  
  
“And I'll come over a few times a week and do a bit of cleaning. Plus I can start putting baby clothes away.”  
“There's nowhere to put them yet,” Harry admitted glumly. “We were going to get the room ready together. We talked about it. But now he won't be home before she's born and then...”  
“She?” Molly asked with raised eyebrows.  
  
Harry made a face. They hadn't actually told anybody the sex of their child.  
  
“How wonderful.” Molly squeezed his shoulders. “But dear me – after all the trouble I went to trying to get just one girl, and my sons have them coming out of their....” she broke off and started laughing. “Ears. I was going for ears, of course.”  
  
Chuckling along with her, Harry had to agree that she had a point.  
  
“I won't tell a soul,” she promised. “But she's going to be truly beautiful. Made out of two of the most beautiful young men I know.”  
“She will be.” Harry smiled. “I wonder if she'll have my mum's eyes, like I do.”  
“Maybe. You don't have particularly long to find out.”  
“I know, and that makes the fact we haven't got anything ready worse. They said he could go into labour early and then we'd be really screwed.”  
“Well... the amount of baby things I've amassed over the years, not to mention Ron's brothers... I'm sure we can sort things out at short notice. That's what family is for.”  
  
Nodding, Harry sniffed. He had a question burgeoning on his tongue but was afraid to say it because he didn't want to upset Molly.  
  
 _What if he dies? What if he dies? What if he dies? What if he dies? What if he dies?. What if they both die? Fuck._  
  
“He's going to be okay.” Molly squeezed him again.  
“What if he's not?”  
  
Molly didn't answer him, but pulled him properly into an embrace and started stroking his hair again.  
  
***  
  
After a night tucked up in Ron's bed and stuffed full of two plates of Full English from Molly, not to mention some decent coffee from the same wonderful woman, Harry felt much more human as he walked through the hospital. He'd also had a long hot shower. The world definitely looked brighter.  
  
“Morning!” he called cheerfully to the staff at the desk as he breezed through the maternity ward doors.  
  
They chorused back to him, full of smiles. Harry had to hand it to them – they were the nicest lot in the hospital, and he'd experienced a fair few through work. They waved him on to the end of the ward and Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets as he strolled through the pastel-coloured corridor. When he neared Ron's door he slowed, finding it ajar and the sound of laughter coming from within.  
  
“It's not my fault you're really bad at chess.”  
  
Harry recognised Ron's smug voice. The response he got was male and, from where Harry stood, coquettish.  
  
“Well maybe I'll just have to stop in when I'm on shift and you can teach me.”  
“I never reveal my secrets.”  
  
Ron was flirting back – Harry was certain of it. Spurred on by jealousy, he rapped on the door with his knuckles and entered without waiting for permission. Ron was propped up in bed, wearing one of Harry's hoodies which didn't quite cover his bump. Harry thought the sight of his belly was a little obscene in the context of the other man in the room.  
  
“Well, I need to get back to work.” The imposter wizard wore the periwinkle blue robes of a Healer, albeit not one from the Maternity ward. “Have a good day.”  
  
Harry waited until he'd left and closed the door before looking at Ron properly.  
  
“Someone you know?” he asked airily.  
“Yeah, through work. I thought you knew him too, but clearly not.”  
“Enjoying his company, were you?” Harry took his coat off.  
  
Ron stared at him for a moment and then asked, “Oh, Harry. Are you jealous?”  
“No!”  
“Really?” Ron teased. “Sounds like it and you look a bit green.”  
“I just didn't expect to find you laying on your chess moves in the middle of a hospital when your jumper doesn't fit properly.  
  
He wandered over and gently stroked the bare part of Ron's belly.  
  
“Nothing fits. I can't help it.”  
“I know.”  
“And I can't help it if someone beyond our family wants to visit me.”  
  
Grumbling to himself, Harry dropped into the seat the Healer had vacated. He used magic to send the table holding the chess board across the room.  
  
“I missed you,” Ron said with a sad little smile.  
“I missed you more. How d'you feel today?”  
“Shit. But maybe less shit than yesterday.”  
“Well, there's a silver lining.”  
  
Harry settled down and crossed his legs at the ankle.  
  
“How was dinner?” Ron asked. “George said you conked out in my room?”  
“Yeah... it was weird.”  
“What possessed you to go up there in the first place?”  
“I missed you. I wanted to be around you. With you. Fell asleep and when I woke up I wasn't really in any fit state to come here... so I stayed over. In your bed. With that teddy bear you think nobody can see under the pillow.”  
  
Ron gasped in mock outrage. “Fuck that two-timing bear! I can't believe he cheated on me with you! Unforgivable!”  
  
Laughing, Harry took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “Well. I'll let you have it out with him the next time that you see him.”  
“Oh he's out on his ear. He can go and scum it on the streets.”  
“Christ, remind me never to cheat on you,” Harry said, drolly.  
  
Ron stuck his tongue out – presumably because giving Harry the finger would have hurt too much.  
  
“Something weird came up at dinner though...”  
“Oh?”  
“Bill asked when we were going to get married.”  
  
Ron looked like he'd swallowed a fly.  
  
“That's how I reacted!” Harry cried, grateful that he wasn't the only one who felt it was a completely ridiculous question. “I mean... isn't the baby enough?”  
“For now.” Ron nodded. “I guess... in a few years' time.”  
“Whoa, what?” Harry gaped at him. “What?”  
“Harry. Calm your tits, my friend.”  
“This is huge!”  
“Stop it, you're yelping.”  
“Join me, won't you?!”  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. “Did you honestly think that I'd not thought about it?”  
“I thought after the divorce you wouldn't have even considered it.”  
“Never considered what it would be like to marry the other love of my life? Don't be daft, Harry. Of course I've thought about it and even more since...” he trailed off, smoothing his hand over his belly.  
“So I'm the only one who thinks it's...” Harry couldn't get out what he actually thought it was, but he couldn't believe that Ron wasn't on his side.  
  
“Why don't you want to marry me?” Ron frowned. “Am I not husband material?”  
“No, it's not that... I've just never thought about it. I don't know. Maybe. But we've had so much going on, and the baby... we haven't even named our baby yet but you're thinking about getting married?”  
  
Ron chewed on his lower lip and nodded thoughtfully.  
  
“It just caught me off guard.”  
“I've been thinking about baby names.”  
“Me too, actually.” Harry leant forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. “For a while now.”  
  
Something looked off about Ron as he prepared to speak.  
  
“I know what you're going to ask, Harry. And the answer's no.”  
“What am I going to ask?” Harry frowned.  
“You're going to ask me if we can name this little girl after your mum.”  
  
Stunned at Ron's accuracy, Harry sat completely still in surprise.  
  
“What's wrong with the name Lily?” he asked finally. “It's a pretty name.”  
“Don't get me wrong, Harry, it's a lovely name... but I don't want to call our daughter that.”  
“Why not?” Harry asked, unsure of why he felt so angry about Ron's rebuttal of his idea.  
“Because it belongs to a dead person.”  
“She was alive once!”  
“Yeah and our baby has nearly died enough times to make me not want to jinx it.”  
“You think my mother's name is – what – cursed?” Harry cried. “Ron, don't be an idiot.”  
“I'm not being an idiot. I just think it's bloody morbid. Let's call her something entirely new. Something which makes her unique. Something we _both_ love.”  
“Like what?” Harry asked sulkily, folding his arms over his chest.  
  
Ron looked down at his bump. “Something magical. I don't know. But she's special, right? She should have a special name. A goddess name or a legendary name. I don't know.”  
  
“I always said to myself if I had kids, I'd name them after the people I'd lost,” Harry said flatly. “It's been a dream of mine since I was eleven. In front of that fucking mirror.”  
“Why though? Why give a name from the past? Let's look to the future. Our future.”  
  
Harry's good mood had completely shrivelled up. He wished he was back in Ron's bed and that the entire conversation had never happened. He'd never admit it, but he felt rather crushed.  
  
“I see. It's good to know how... how you feel about it,” he said curtly, getting to his feet.  
  
He put his jacket back on.  
  
“Oh, Harry, come on – don't walk out on me when you know I can't chase you. Stay. We'll talk about it some more.”  
“What's the point? You think it's a stupid idea. You've said as much.”  
“I didn't call it stupid, don't put words in my mouth.”  
  
Something started to bleep hard and fast – a monitoring spell, Harry realised, as the door crashed open and two Healers piled in. He stepped back as they swarmed on Ron, taking his pulse and giving him some kind of potion.  
  
“There, there...” The Healer gently laid Ron's hand back on the bed.  
  
Harry peered around the person nearest to him and saw Ron dazed on the pillow.  
  
“What did you give him?” he demanded. “He looks doped up to the eyeballs.”  
“Healer's orders. Any spike in blood pressure is to be countered with some sedative. It's too risky to let him get het up about anything. I thought we went through this, Mr Potter.”  
  
Feeling chastened, Harry didn't speak again until they'd contented themselves that Ron's blood pressure was coming back down and left the room.  
  
“And now we can't even fight,” he muttered bitterly to Ron's sleeping form. “Fucking great.”


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closure is a funny thing, but there's nothing like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst, language, mentioned past infidelity / adultery, Mpreg, divorce.

It was very hard to hold court from a hospital bed, but Ron thought he was pretty good at it with all things considered. Every time he thought about getting up his body protested in a way which told him exactly why that was a terrible idea, but the Healers were starting to say things about pressure sores and catheterisation. He really didn't want anybody to shove something up his dick. On the plus side he couldn't see it any more, so at least he wouldn't be party to seeing said catheter or its insertion.

“Ron? Helloooo. Are you with me?” Charlie asked, waving his hand in the air.  
“Shit, sorry. Can you help me up?”  
“You're not scheduled for a walk for another three hours.”  
“Stop reading my chart!” Ron snapped. “I want to get up.”

Charlie sighed as he got to his feet. Ron pushed his blankets back and started the painstakingly slow process of getting his legs off the bed.

“This is so shit,” he groaned.

It was thoroughly infuriating that whilst he hated having to be in the hospital, being on complete bed rest was clearly doing wonders. Whilst his body was failing and he was in large amounts of pain for a great deal of the day, his mind was sharp and the baby was growing stronger and stronger every day. He couldn't moan about it when it was clearly beneficial.

“Gently...” Charlie protested, taking Ron's hands when he reached out. “And slowly.”  
“If I get any fucking slower I'll be going backwards,” Ron pointed out.

Charlie laughed and stepped back, giving Ron more space.

“Wow. You're huge.”  
“Well fuck you too,” Ron retorted hotly. “Merlin's cock who needs enemies, eh?”  
“I've not seen you for a while. Seems to have come on really quickly is all.”  
“Tell me about it. I can't see things.”  
“You'd better be referring to your feet.” Charlie winked at him.  
“Well, it'd take some baby to hide those bloody great things.”

Ron shifted his weight between said feet. Pain spliced through his pelvis and down into his thighs.

“Enough?” Charlie asked.  
“One more minute.”  
“Ron-”  
“Just one more minute. And don't tell Harry.”

Charlie looked like he wanted to argue but Ron was glad when he didn't.

“How's Harry? I'm not here for long, hoping to see him though...”

Ron couldn't help pulling a face before he answered. “He's... Harry.”  
“That doesn't sound as loved up as I'd like.”  
“Well, you try having a baby and turning your life upside down.” Ron rolled his eyes. “We're just... trying to get on with things and it's all a bit much.”  
“Anything in particular?”

Thinking of how to answer, Ron felt his knees weaken and Charlie caught him as he staggered forward. He allowed his brother to gently guide him back into bed but stopped short of letting Charlie tuck him in.

“Sorry, sorry...” Charlie held his hands up. “Habit.”  
“You've not tucked me in for a good twenty years, y'know...”

Charlie grinned and stretched his arms above his head. “So. Harry. What's the problem?”  
“What isn't the problem?” Ron shook his head. “Just seems like we're at odds on everything. Where we should be together we're apart. And everything ends up in a fight.”  
“You're still babies...” Charlie looked sympathetic. “In the relationship I mean. It's all still new and fresh and you've got all this added pressure...”

Ron picked at a wool bobble on his blanket and kept his eyes down. “I don't know. It all feels pretty real and terrible... not teething troubles.”  
“In what way?”  
“We agree on nothing. We're still in half a fight because I said I wouldn't name the baby after his mum. That fight only stopped because I had to be medicated because my blood pressure shot off the scale. And he keeps running away whenever things get difficult.”

Shaking his head, Ron looked out of the window.

“It's like he wants the family and the baby and everything, but he doesn't know how to work to have it. I don't even know if he thinks he needs to work on this... I guess he was in such a poor relationship with Gin for so long that he doesn't actually know even how to be in a bloody relationship! And then when we're not fighting, he's getting jealous of me being with other people. He had a fight with Hermione and he keeps accusing me of flirting with other men when I'm not!”

Charlie sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out to put his hand on Ron's knee. “Don't get stressed out. I came here to talk with you, not watch you loll about doped up. Harry... well. Is it any surprise really that he's bad at relationships?”

“Go on...”  
“Well. If you think about it, most of us have a benchmark in our parents. We tend to spend most of our lives either trying to be or not to be our parents when it comes to relationships.”  
“Like, if our parents were happy or not?”  
“Exactly. For example, we have a pretty strong example. Mum and Dad clearly adore one another and they always have. They've been through some really shitty times – abject poverty, for one, but they stuck together and waited for the good times. If you look at each of us, there's a pattern. When the going gets tough we tend to have our little explosion and then we knuckle down and deal with it. You're a prime example.”

Ron grimaced. “Yeah. Being suicidal. That was just a minor break from reality.”  
“But look at you now, submitting yourself to 24/7 hospital care to keep your unborn child safe. If someone had said to you five months ago that you'd be doing this, would you have believed them?”  
“Fair point,” Ron conceded.  
“But Harry... he's had to form these relationship idylls by himself. He had a terrible go of it with Ginny and you two coming together wasn't under the best of circumstances.”

Charlie rubbed his nose.

“Oh, what?” Ron asked with a grimace, bracing himself for a blow.  
“Well... you're not exactly the calmest, are you? And nobody could blame you right now.”

Ron grumpily pulled the blankets up to his chin.

“And if he's jealous... it's probably because he's terrified you're going to abandon him. Everyone he's ever loved has left him, Ron. His parents, Sirius, Remus... they all died. And you're so ill, and have come so close to death... he's fucking shitting himself, mate.”  
“That makes two of us then.”

Ron didn't know why he felt stupid. He knew Charlie wasn't trying to make him feel small, but that was how he felt.

“Ron?”  
“Mm?”  
“I didn't mean to make you feel bad.”  
“I know you didn't.”

Charlie moaned and reached up to rub at his temples. “This is just so... unfair on you both. You both deserve to be happy, but you're here in the hospital growing a baby and Harry's god knows where...”  
“He's at home. Sleeping under pain of me calling this baby after someone from the Cannons.” Ron grinned. “I feel so bad about that fight about the names. And they sedated me so we couldn't even carry on. I'm sure we could have actually resolved that fight with enough time.”  
“I'm sure you'll be able to talk it through. Baby's got to be called something at some point.”

Ron nodded and shivered slightly. “D'you think I was out of order?”  
“Well... why don't you want to call the baby Lily?”  
“Because she's dead. They're all dead, like you said. Why give a new life, a new life as special as this one-” he gestured to his bump, “A dead woman's name.”  
“Could you say the word 'dead' any more times?” Charlie asked, looking slightly incredulous.

“What? She is dead!” Ron protested.  
“Yes, and everybody knows that, most of all Harry, who's trying to process the fact that his mother is never going to meet her grandchild and will never see him become a father. They made the ultimate sacrifice trying to protect him.”  
“You're making me sound like a right prick. Am I really being a prick?” Ron asked desperately, afraid that his perception had been skewed completely.

“No. But I think maybe lay off the word 'dead'.” Charlie gave him a small smile. “And maybe try a little tact.”  
“How could I have been anything other than honest?”  
“I'm not saying you should have lied. Just be gentle.”  
“I was gentle!”  
“Gentler, then. There's always room to being a little more... gentle.”

Charlie's shoulders slumped. “Look at me giving you relationship advice. I'm not in any position to be giving that.”  
“Who else would I talk all this shit though with?”  
“Not Hermione?”

Ron moaned and tipped his head back. “They had a fight.”  
“So? Did you have a fight?”  
“No, but Harry was so angry I was scared of poking the dragon.” Ron felt heat flooding into his cheeks.

He was embarrassed that he had gone with the flow rather than standing up to Harry. After all, he'd not fallen out with Hermione and far from it. He was craving her company to the point of misery, but grew more miserable at the thought that Hermione might not want to waste her time in a hospital room with the man who wasn't even her husband any more.

“What if I happened to drop by her office?” Charlie asked airily. “And gave her a time to come by that Harry wouldn't be here?”

Gratitude flooded through Ron. “Would you?”  
“Yeah, why not?” Charlie shrugged. “Whether Harry wants to accept it or not, you want her here. You miss her.”  
“I do miss her.”  
“Well then. Off I trot. When can I tell her to come by?”  
“Well it's not like I can go anywhere...” Ron rolled his eyes. “But Harry's at work all day tomorrow, so maybe then?”  
Charlie bobbed his head in agreement. “Cool.”  
“Charlie?”  
“Mm?”  
“Thanks,” Ron said gratefully. “I really appreciate it. I hate that I'm bedbound and not in a good way.”

Charlie burst out laughing. “So. My little brother is filthy?”  
“Why, what've you heard?” Ron narrowed his eyes playfully. “It's all lies, Charlie.”  
“Well... your loss then.” Charlie winked. “Seriously though. Of all places I thought your life would take you, this definitely wasn't one of them.”  
“Just the baby?” Ron grinned to himself. “Or the whole gay divorcee part?”  
“All of it.”  
“Well me fucking either. I don't know how I got here.”  
“Pretty sure it involved being on all fours for Harry.”  
“If I had the strength I'd sock you in the mouth.”  
“Aw, hurts to hear the truth, eh?”  
“I wasn't on all fours!”  
“Oh? More of a whore on your back with your legs in the air, are we?”  
“Why is this conversation even happening?” Ron cried. “Oh, Godric.”

His pulse monitor started to bleep as he grew more and more embarrassed.

“All right, calm down,” Charlie advised. “Breathe. In through the nose and out through the mouth.”  
“Sod off then.”  
“I'm going. I'll pop in again before I go back.”  
“And you'll go and see Hermione?”  
“I'm going there now.”

Ron smiled as he shifted awkwardly against his pillows. “Thanks. For going. And the chat. It helps to have someone else's opinion.”

Charlie gave him a little salute and then left. Ron listened to his retreating footsteps and looked around at his hospital room. He suddenly felt far too lonely. It might have been Charlie, whose charisma lit up any space he entered, leaving a bigger void of emptiness in his wake, but Ron knew he was just finding it difficult being in hospital. It was so much more bearable when he had someone to take his mind off things, but he wasn't an idiot; his family and friends all had lives. They couldn't be with him for every single second of the day.

Before his admission he wouldn't have even wanted them to be. He appreciated peace and quiet and Merlin only knew when he gave birth they might never have any time alone again. His hand settled on his belly and Ron looked down at the expanse of his body which had only ever been thin. He was trying not to think about how it would look after the baby was born. Ron never thought he had reason to be particularly vain – he'd been more of a 'look despairingly in the mirror then give up' type. He'd had definition because work demanded that he remain physically fit, but he doubted his skin and stomach muscles would ever recover from the baby forcing them out of shape.

Exhaling, he slumped, causing his back to ache and his neck to hurt more than they already did. The room was suddenly freezing, but he didn't want to attract the attention of the MediWitches.

Perhaps he could still appreciate peace and quiet after all.

***  
“Knock knock.”

Hermione slipped through the door, looking worriedly over her shoulder.

“I'd hug you, but I can't get up.”

Ron desperately wanted to throw his arms around her – wanted to apologise on Harry's behalf and hold her to make it better. But he was in such agony that nothing was touching it. He was surprised he was still awake given the amount of painkiller they'd funnelled into him.

Hermione closed the door and shrugged out of her coat. She chucked it on her waiting chair and bent over to give him a gentle hug. She didn't kiss his cheek as she normally would have.

“I'm so happy you're here,” he said, hoping he sounded earnest. “I've missed you.”  
“I've missed you too. How're you doing?”  
“Shittily. Today I think I'd happily set fire to my own body. Everything hurts.”

Her face creased with sympathy and she sighed as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Why did you send Charlie?”  
“Because I missed you.”  
“Harry wouldn't want me here, Ron.”  
“Fuck what Harry wants – I wanted to see you. To talk through what happened.”  
“Harry was his usual self, that's what happened,” Hermione muttered bitterly. “Not looking beyond the end of his own nose.”  
“Well, he's got a lot to cope with at the minute.” He held up a hand as she furiously opened her mouth. “That's no excuse, but it's the reality.”  
“He ruined...” Hermione broke off and shook her head. “What did he tell you?”  
“Nothing, except for the fact that you'd had a fight. And that he felt bad about it.”

Ron hoped Hermione wouldn't pick up on his lie – Harry hadn't seemed in the least bit remorseful. It couldn't hurt to pretend he had been, however.

“I said I wanted to see you both together because I had some news.”  
“You're quitting the Ministry to become a street juggler?” Ron teased.  
“As fulfilling as that would be, no.” Hermione was seemingly unable to keep from smiling. “No, I've been asked to consider the position of Deputy Minister of Magic.”  
“You're kidding!” Ron cried. “No way! Wow. That's amazing, that is.”

He grabbed her hand and squeezed it in lieu of being able to do what he really wanted to do – lift her up in a hug and whirl her around the room. His wife had always been ambitious and rightly so. She was clever and progressive and extremely efficient at getting people to do things they didn't want to do. After all she'd conned him, of all people, into trying salsa dancing. Twice.

“You're going to be brilliant,” he carried on enthusiastically. “And eventually one day, when Kingsley's had enough, you'll take over from him and you'll be even more brilliant.”  
“So you think I should do it then?”  
“Of course I fucking do!” Ron cried. “Why wouldn't I?”

Hermione looked sadly down at her lap. “Well. I wanted to talk to you. This will be massive, I'll be constantly in the public eye.”  
“You – we – already are. What's going to change?”  
“Perhaps it'll get even more intense, and with the baby on the way-”  
“Baby has nothing to do with you getting the promotion you deserve. Absolutely nothing, Hermione. She's our problem and we'll protect her in any way we can from the media circus. She shouldn't stop you from having what you deserve.”  
“She?”

Ron sighed at his mistake. “It's a girl.”  
“Oh, Ron...” Hermione reached out and touched his bump. “That's lovely.”  
“It is. But it's still nothing to do with this. Do it, Hermione. You deserve it and you're going to smash it.”  
“You really think that?”  
“What does it matter what I think?” Ron frowned.

Hermione groaned slightly and got back up. She started to meander around the tiny hospital room, her arms folded tightly over her chest. She was holding something back.

“Hermione? Talk to me?”  
“That's just it,” she said, turning to face him. “I can't talk to you. Because Harry's thrown up this shield between us. I've discussed everything with you since we were married. Haven't made a decision or even a round of toast without involving you. And I was no kept woman, we both had lives, but we were always part of the other's, and I don't think I can do this without you. Don't know if I want to.”

Ron didn't really know what to say to that. That she would consider not taking a position because of what had happened in their private lives staggered him, because that was not the Hermione he knew.

“I haven't taken to the single life particularly well,” she said softly. “I hate it. I hate that you're not there. And I thought that if Harry had said you couldn't see me then it might get easier. But I just missed you more.”  
“Made me miss you more, too,” he offered. “I hate not speaking with you. I'm so happy you're here.”

Hermione froze on the spot, looking conflicted. Ron was about to enquire when she threw herself across the room and then was right there, kissing him. He mumbled his shock against her mouth and tried to back up, but his pillows trapped him in place. Just as he felt he had no option but to kiss back, Hermione pulled away. She looked as though someone had just clonked her round the back of the head.

“What was that?” Ron whispered.  
“A moment of sheer idiocy which will never happen again.” Hermione looked mortified. “God. I'm sorry Ron.”  
“Why?” he asked. “It's okay.”  
“We're divorced.”  
“I know that.”  
“And Harry-”  
“Harry doesn't ever need to know that it happened. It won't be happening again, will it?”

Hermione shook her head and, baffling Ron even further, started to laugh.

“I'm sorry.” She was chuckling. “That was awful.”  
“You never used to find my kissing awful.”  
“No, I mean... I thought it would be like it always was, that I'd feel the same as I always did, kissing you... but it wasn't... there wasn't any...” she had to stop, she was laughing so much.  
“Spark,” Ron supplied for her. “No spark. Is that what closure is?”

She shrugged helplessly and wiped her eyes. Ron found himself reaching up to brush the back of his hand over his lips. Tasting Hermione there felt incredibly wrong.

“So,” he said once her giggles had petered out. “You're going to say yes, and you're going to be amazing. And I'm going to be here wherever I can to support you, and I don't give a flying fuck about what Harry has to say about it.”  
“Really?” Hermione asked, her expression full of doubt.  
“Really.” Ron nodded. “I mean it. Once this kid's out of me...” He made a popping noise with his lips. “I'm there.”

“How is it?” Hermione asked sincerely. “Being in here?”  
“Horrible. I'm not kidding, Hermione. It's bloody horrible. No privacy, no comfort, nothing tastes any good, I can't even burp without someone monitoring it.”  
“You always did hate being an inpatient.”  
“I know. But it was this or lose the baby, so... here I am.”  
“Here you are.” Hermione found another smile for him.

Desperate to find a silver lining in the situation, Ron said, “Sometimes, if I'm a good boy, they let someone wheel me out into the quad for fresh air. One time I even got as far as the canteen before they tracked me down.”  
“I think I've got enough pull around here to get you to the canteen. Maybe beyond...”  
“Don't mess around. I'm very fragile these days and the disappointment could break me.”  
“I'm not messing around. I'll get your wheelchair.”

Ron could have attempted another Salsa, he was so chuffed.

-

“Think they've noticed I've gone yet?” Ron asked, happily shoving another spoonful of ice cream in his mouth.

They'd gone for a little once around the quad for some fresh air and then Hermione had wheeled him up to the level with the canteen on and bought him ice cream. He was having an amazing day despite the fact that his wheelchair was making his entire body hurt.

“We should definitely be getting back. You're going paler by the second.”  
“I'm fine,” Ron protested, but when he shrugged the muscles in his neck seized up. “Fuck.”

Hermione rushed to stand behind him and massaged him gently. It didn't really help but Ron thought it was nice that she'd tried. She collected her bag and then started wheeling him towards the corridor.

“Take me away. Take me anywhere but here?” he begged.  
“You wouldn't last three miles without the drugs,” Hermione pointed out. “And anyway, I've got plans tonight.”  
“Oh aye?” Ron asked suspiciously. “Is it a date? I hope it's a date. Is he hot? Show me a picture!”  
“We are so not having this conversation!” Hermione cried.

Ron knew if he looked, she'd be blushing.

“Well if it's not a date what's so important that you have to cop out of breaking me out of this hellhole?”  
“I've got dinner with Kingsley if you must know.”  
“You've got a date with Kingsley Shacklebolt?!”  
“No, I have dinner with him. Honestly, Ron, you're impossible.”  
“I mean I know rebound relationships often go to the extreme, but seriously-”  
“It's about the job, you git!”

Ron started to laugh then and kept it up all the way down to the Maternity Unit. Hermione maintained a dignified silence until the doors opened automatically for them.

“Oh, Ron, I think-”  
“Where the HELL have you been?!” Harry bellowed at him.  
“For ice cream,” Ron said, as levelly as he could when ice cream was clogging the back of his throat and he was still half-laughing.  
“And you didn't think to tell anyone where you were going and who with?”  
“Harry, calm down. It's fine. I'm fine. I've had a nice afternoon.”  
“And now you need to get back into bed, immediately,” the MediWitch in Charge said, fixing him with her most scariest of stares.

Ron met her eye and said, “It's just ice cream. All parties are still alive. Chill out.”

Nobody said anything until Hermione pressed forward and started to wheel him down the corridor to his room. Harry followed – Ron could sense the fury that he was barely suppressing bubbling between them all. He allowed himself to be wheeled to the bedside and then permitted Harry to help him back into his bed prison. Although he'd never admit it, the jaunt for ice cream and fresh air had tired him out.

“What's she doing here?” Harry demanded, as soon as he was settled. “I thought I made myself clear?”  
“Yup, you did,” Ron agreed. “But here's the thing, Harry, I don't have to agree with everything you say and I don't have to do everything you want me to do. Hermione is my ex-wife and she's one of my best friends. Whether you're happy with that or not, it's the truth. I asked her to come and see me because I missed her, and I wanted to apologise for whatever cock up you made.”

Harry's eyes widened and his mouth opened.

“Ron, it's fine, you don't have to have this discussion. I'm going,” Hermione assured. “I don't want you to get worked up.”  
“I'm not worked up,” Ron promised. “I'm completely calm and we're going to have this out here and now. Both of you. This is stupid.”

It was very odd to play the mediator. Normally it was Hermione between him and Harry, or Harry between Ron and his wife. It was very rare he had to stand in the middle of his two best friends and stop them from laying into one another. That he was doing it from a hospital bed was even odder.

“Both of you bloody sit down and talk. Unless you want me to cry. I'm not to be upset, remember. Smacked bottoms all round if you upset me.” He looked between them and leant back into his pillows.

It was even odder that he had smacked both bottoms in question.

“We have to sort this out,” he moaned. “Come on. We're us. The Golden fucking Trio. We're best friends and yes, it's all got really fucking messy but this... I can't deal with this. I have to have you both in one form or another.”

“And I have no issue with that. Harry's the one that got possessive.” Hermione was glaring.

“Wouldn't you? Knowing that your partner still had feelings for the person that they wanted to spend time with?” Harry glared back.

“I did it for years,” Hermione said. “I knew he loved you. I could see it every time he looked at you. Did I ever tell him no? Did I ever stop him?”

Harry didn't seem to have an answer for that. Ron was just glad they were talking.

“You've got to let go a little bit, Harry,” he said softly. “I love you. I'm with you. I'm carrying your baby. If I lost it tomorrow I wouldn't go back to Hermione. Things have changed between us – changed in a way which can never be fixed. That hurts. I need her friendship. I know you do too. So please, don't drive this wedge between us.”

“I just... I don't... I can't bear the thought of losing you. You're the only good thing in my life. You and the baby. I want you both more than you can even imagine. Need you.”

It was a moment of quite startling honesty from Harry, who seemed to have grown more and more private over the past few months. Ron's chest filled with warmth as he looked at Harry's bright eyes and flushed cheeks.

“And the thought of sharing you is hard,” Harry muttered.  
“You're not going to have to share me,” Ron insisted. “Because I haven't turned my entire life upside down to leave you now, Harry. Come on. You know this. Don't be a dickhead.”

Harry looked away. For the first time Ron found himself doubting how he was coming across. He'd hoped he was being loving and understanding but he wondered if there was any way Harry might have missed that. Perhaps the name argument had done irreparable damage.

“I don't want to come between you,” Hermione said suddenly. “I don't want that. I want you to be happy together, and that's why I stayed away.”  
“You don't have to,” Ron insisted. “Because we can sort this. We're us. We're never apart.”  
“I'm sorry,” Harry said loudly. “I'm sorry for the things I said to you.”  
“I'm sorry for saying you ruined everything in my life,” Hermione responded.

Ron watched their uneasy glances at one another. Neither one of them moved to hug the other, which he had been hoping for.

“Did you tell him?” Harry asked. “About work?”  
“I did.”  
“Great, isn't it?” Ron made sure that his tone was firm. “I think she'll be fantastic. I'm behind her a hundred percent.”

Harry fidgeted with the zip on his coat and nodded. “Me too. I think you should go for it. You'll be brilliant.”  
“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione said. “That means a lot.”

Again, awkward silence stretched between them and Ron huffed with impatience. “Fuck's sake, can you just hug or something? I can't bang your heads together like I would if I weren't bedridden, but... just imagine me doing it. Really hard, trying to knock some sense into you.”

Neither of them moved.

“Oh, for fuck's sake, fine! I'll get up then!”

The sprightliness with which he managed to get himself out of bed clearly astounded them, because he was upright before they both came at him with their hands out and worried looks on their faces. Ron felt quite strong as grabbed them both and pulled them close to his chest. It hurt, but he really didn't care -he just needed them to be right again. For it all to be right again.

He gave a Harry a kiss on the top of his head and inhaled from his hair. He'd missed that smell even though he'd been the one who forced Harry to go home and sleep and then to go to work. Everyone else was lovely to spend time with him, but there was really only one person who made anything feel any better. Harry.

Ron winced as Hermione hugged him tighter. His strength was waning but he didn't want to admit it. His little afternoon jaunt had meant that he'd missed two scheduled naps.

“Can we let go now?” Harry asked timidly. “Or are you going to actually clonk our heads together?”  
“Are you going to keep fighting?”

There was a split second of hesitation before they both answered in unison. “No.”

“Then you can let go,” Ron said, trying out his best 'and so there' tone. “Hey. Who thought I'd be practising my parenting skills on two fully grown people?”

He stepped back, automatically reaching behind to rub at the base of his spine. He couldn't help the smug grin which spread over his face as Hermione regarded Harry nervously before pouncing on him, pulling him into a crushing hug. Harry returned it.

Ron felt again that if he'd had the energy, he might have tried out another Salsa in celebration. But he was shattered and everything seemed to hurt more than when he'd been in his wheelchair, so he chose instead to sit down and watch them sway slightly on the spot.

“Better?” Ron teased.

Harry gave him the finger behind Hermione's back and Ron laughed until a pain in his chest took his breath away. Harry detached from the hug and rushed to his side.

“What?” He asked.  
“Hurts,” Ron gasped.  
“Want me to get someone?” Hermione asked.  
“No, there's no point.” Holding his breath, Ron laid down on the bed and shivered.  
“You're freezing,” Harry muttered. “Your hands are like ice.”

Ron switched off from their fussing. At first it had been disconcerting, if only because he didn't like people flapping over him when he was ill. But as the days had gone on and the pain had got worse he'd just learned to slip out of his mind and let it carry on around him. Harry hated it because the dissociative state prevented him from answering, but Ron trusted Harry to know what he needed.

“Don't go,” Harry murmured near to his ear. “Stay with us.”

Ron could have purred as he felt fingers brush through his hair. Despite his protests one of them must have summoned some healers because there was suddenly a lot more noise in the room. He could feel someone taking his pulse. He didn't remember opening his mouth but they must have given him something because he could feel himself slipping down into darkness.

-

When he next came to, Ron felt much better in himself. Things hurt less, at the very least, and he was toasty and warm under several blankets. He didn't want to move and hoped he wouldn't have to. As his brain cleared he started to hear the conversation going on around him.

“I honestly didn't mean the things I said,” Hermione said sadly. “You might have ruined my marriage, but you didn't ruin my life. It was always my choice, just like it was Ron's choice, and I'm sorry if I made you feel like everything you'd always feared was true.”  
“It made me feel shit,” Harry confirmed.

Waking up more and more by the second, Ron hoped he was keeping his expression sleep-neutral. He knew he shouldn't earwig on his best friends' conversation, but it was too tempting to hear what might be said.

“And I'm sorry for going on about you and him... I can't expect you to not be friends. Or ask you not to be. I'm sorry.”  
“I think we're both just really sorry,” Hermione said. Ron could hear her smile in her tone.

“He won't let me name the baby after my mum,” Harry said.

Ron nearly forgot himself and managed to just catch the swear word on the tip of his tongue.

“I know. He told me.”  
“Ah. And where do you come down on the whole argument?”  
“I'm with him, Harry. Your mum's name is lovely, but your baby deserves to have something new. And Ron said that he didn't mind giving it as a middle name.”

Again, he had to quash his reaction – but that time to a downright lie. However, he'd not really considered middle names, so perhaps Hermione had just handed him an answer.

“I suppose that'd be cool. In there somewhere.” Harry did actually sound somewhat placated. “See... what a bloody idiot I was to think we could survive without you in our lives.” He laughed. “Clearly we can't. Never could.”

“Will never have to,” Hermione said firmly. “But there's nothing to worry about between us. I... well. I think we've finally turned a corner.”  
“How did you get there?”

Ron couldn't help clenching his fingers into a fist under the blankets with fear.

“I don't think you want to know. But, it's going to be easier now. It is.” Hermione sighed.  
“Then I won't ask.”

It was clear that Harry was trying to be grown up about the situation and Ron found himself oddly proud.

“I've got to get going... I'm having dinner with Kingsley tonight. To discuss... well.”  
“The job.”  
“Yes.”

There was a brief silence and then there was a scuffling of a chair over the floor. He heard a gentle 'oof' from Harry and Ron could tell they were hugging again.

“You're going to be an amazing politician. You can talk anybody into anything.”  
“I talked Ron into Salsa lessons. You're right.”  
“You what?!” Harry's laughter was loud and more than a little unkind.

Ron didn't begrudge him the mirth – the thought of him attempting Salsa was rightly hilarious.

“Are you going to stay or go home?” Hermione asked. It sounded like she was putting on her coat.  
“Stay.” Harry sat back down. “I hate the thought of him all alone in here. I want to be here when he wakes up. Spend some time together.”  
“It must be really hard with him in here and you out there and... not being able to properly look after him.”  
“It sucks,” Harry confirmed.  
“Well I'll leave you to it.”  
“Good luck. Not that you need it.”

Ron tried hard to play the sleeping beauty as Hermione kissed him on the forehead and then made her exit. Harry stayed still for some time before finally getting up and sitting down on the edge of the bed. Ron thought it was only right that he admit his consciousness, but not before Harry kissed him gently on the lips.

“Mm, more please,” Ron mumbled.  
“How long have you been awake?” Harry asked with a sigh.  
“I think Lily's a really pretty middle name.” Ron looked sheepishly up at Harry. “Like, really pretty.”  
“Do you?”  
“Yeah. I do.” Ron worked one arm free and reached up to push Harry's glasses back into position on the bridge of his nose. “How long have I been out?”  
“Only about an hour. They just gave you a better painkiller and that made you a sleepy, mumbling drunk.”  
“Ah, the best kind of drunk.” Ron laughed. “Are you all right?”  
“Sure, why wouldn't I be?”

Ron looked at him before letting out a little huff. “Be honest, Harry.”  
“I feel like shit and everything is shit and I miss you.”  
“Better,” Ron confirmed.

Even though it hurt, and even though the bed was impossibly tiny, he made himself shift over and lifted up his blankets, inviting Harry in. The brunet looked nervously at the door.

“Lock it, they won't care.” Ron shrugged, bringing on spasms in his neck. “Ow. Just get in, Harry. Nothing's going to happen and I just want a cuddle, all right?”

He let out a happy sigh as Harry kicked off his boots and outer robe, and then clambered gracelessly into the bed beside him. It was everything he needed as Harry's arms went around him as best they could and his weight pressed into Ron's side.

“Kiss,” Ron murmured, and Harry gave him one. “Mmm, thanks.”  
“No need to thank me. You get these for free, y'know?”  
“Do I? I'll try to remember.”

Harry kissed him again, lingering that time and keeping the contact even when they should have been pulling apart.

“I miss you,” he whispered. “So much. The house is horrible. Work's depressing. And I'm just... I'm lonely without you.”  
“I miss you too.” Ron wondered if he looked as sad as he felt. “But we're doing this for her, right? We can suffer this just for a few weeks more, can't we?”  
“I guess.” Harry shrugged.  
“But... if this is going to cause too much damage... and it's okay, Harry, if it is – I, I guess we could-”  
“You're not seriously considering ending this, are you?” Harry sounded distraught.  
“No! I'm not. I was about to say we would ask them to consider an early delivery.”  
“But then she'd be premature.”  
“I know. But it's not such a big deal for wizards. The survival rate is so high.”  
“I want to give her the best chance she can, and if that's staying in your crumbling, decrepit body for as long as possible, then I'll just keep coming to the hospital and you'll stay in it,” Harry said flatly.

Ron wanted to be offended about the description of his previously lithe body, but knew it was completely accurate. They fell silent and he enjoyed the warmth of Harry's head as it came to rest on his shoulder. One of Harry's hands crept over to rest on his bump. Ron had never thought that he would come to enjoy that, but he felt happy as they sat together.

“Your mum came to see me at work today,” Harry said.  
“Why?”  
“Because she was in the city shopping and she wanted to ask what I thought about the baby clothes she'd bought.”  
“Bought?”  
“I know! Nearly choked on my half-cold canteen coffee. But they were really cute. So cute. And tiny.”  
“She doesn't feel tiny,” Ron groused. “She feels like she's wearing steel capped boots and knuckledusters.”  
“Wow, there's an image and a half.”

They laughed together until Ron had to stop because his chest started to hurt again. Harry looked at him worriedly but didn't move.

“So how's the room going?”  
“I hate doing it without you.”  
“You know I want to be there, but I trust you, mate. You're going to do a cracking job and it'll be perfect for her.”  
“And you're definitely sure you want to go with yellow?”  
“Yeah, but sort of... pale yellow. Not mustard yellow. I don't want to scare her thinking she's being attacked by lurid bananas.”  
“Bananas?!” Harry snorted.

“Fucking hell, what was in that potion?” Ron found himself giggling.  
“Drunk. Totally drunk.” Harry coltishly poked the end of Ron's nose. “I miss Drunk Ron. He's amazing. And he also makes the best decisions, like that the time he ordered all that pizza after the Christmas Party in 2003 and we all had pizza for lunch well into the New Year.”  
“Oh yeah, that was a good'un. We had sex in the office of some witch from Contracts and you came all over her notepad.”  
“Ooh, yes!” Harry sighed happily. “That was amazing. Even if you did taste of pizza.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Hey. Earlier before the potion, I realised when I'm lying down now I can't see my feet. That's weird, not being able to see your own feet. Especially when they hurt as much as mine do.”  
“How are those windsocks working out for you?” Harry asked.

“That feels like so long ago.” Ron shook his head. “I mean, I know this pregnancy feels like it's gone on forever and in most aspects it has but that...”  
“It's a scarily short period of time to have your entire life changed,” Harry agreed. “But I don't know why we weren't more ready for it. It's not like we've never had things change at short notice before.”

Opening his mouth to reply that nothing had ever been as big a challenge as keeping a tiny human alive, Ron was interrupted by a knock on their door.

“Uggghhhhh, who's that?” he whispered to Harry. “Stay silent. Maybe they'll go away.”  
“This is a hospital.” Harry laughed as he slipped out of the bed. “That's not likely.”  
“Worth a bloody try,” Ron muttered.  
“I'm sure it's just someone wanted to check on your highness.” Harry pulled open the door. “Or, you know, your sister.”

Ron froze. Somewhere a monitoring charm started bleeping.

“No,” Harry said forcefully. “You calm the fuck down. I mean it, Ron. Ginny, what do you want?”  
“To talk?” She said, sounding low and mournful but not particularly angry.  
“Do you want to hurt either of us?” Harry asked.  
“No. I come in peace.”

Ron watched as Harry stood back and let Ginny into the room. She looked tired and older than when he'd last seen her, but that had been nearly eight months ago.

“Ron.”  
“Gin.”

Harry looked between them, slightly terrified.

“I just wanted to come and see you. To apologise and to tell you some news...”  
“Apologise to which one of us?” Ron asked bluntly.  
“Both of you.”

Ron bit down on his tongue to try and keep his temper in check.

“I'm sorry for the... the fights and the yelling and the family... stuff...” She groaned and seemed to give herself a mental shake. “It was wrong. All of it. I knew that things between us were over, Harry, but I couldn't let it go and I couldn't bear the thought of it being over because you loved my brother more than you loved me.”  
“Well nothing's changed, so you can leave when you're ready,” Harry said coldly.

“I've changed, though. And I didn't want to leave not speaking to either of you, because it wouldn't be right.”  
“Leave?” Ron asked. “Where are you going?”  
“I've... I've been offered a chaser spot on a team over in the States. And I've accepted.”  
“Mum's gonna kill you.” Ron knew his voice had weakened.

He'd not spoken to Ginny in months and been happy about it, but the thought of her moving thousands of miles away was something else entirely. There would never be a proper reconciliation with her on another continent.

“And I really think this is the best option for everyone... I'm out of the way, doing something I love with someone I love, and... I don't have to see you two together, and I don't have to meet your baby and pretend I love it. Which I don't think I ever will, and I don't care if you're offended by that.”

Ron didn't know what to her. Harry folded his arms over his chest and looked wounded.

“You're with him, then?” He asked.  
“I am.”  
“Are you happy?”  
“Happier than I was with you.”

Ron winced at her lack of tact, but then wondered why he'd expected anything different from the two people who had spent the majority of their relationship screaming at one another.

“Then I guess everyone won.”  
“At least, everyone's a lot happier. Except Ron, who looks like he's about to pass on.”  
“Oh, thanks,” Ron scoffed. “That's really nice Gin. Bon voyage to you too.”  
“I'm sorry.” She looked down at her feet. “It's just so strange seeing you pregnant and so ill and I... look. I've said what I came to say and now I'll go. I just thought you should hear it from me.”

She turned to leave and Ron found himself calling out. “Wait a bloody minute. You're not leaving for America without hugging me goodbye.”

He took her embrace with as much good grace as he could muster. It didn't help that she shuddered as she pulled away again. Ron watched with worry as Ginny stopped in front of Harry and held something out to him. Harry took it with a hard swallow and bright eyes. Ginny touched his shoulder and then left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

“Like fucking Kings Cross Station in here tonight,” Ron said, trying to break the tension.

Harry was stood looking down at what Ginny had handed him – her engagement ring. Ron saw it glinting in the light.

“Harry. All right?”  
“That was totally fucking weird!” Harry burst out, staring at the closed door. “She just waltzes in here, drops a bombshell and waltzes back out again?!”  
“That's our Gin,” Ron said, feeling bemused.

Harry drifted to the bed, still holding the engagement ring with his fingertips. He held it out for Ron to see.

“Er, mate, are you proposing to me? I've got to say that's a bit too sparkly for my taste.”  
“Don't be a twat, Ron.” Harry laughed.  
“But I do it so well,” Ron whinged.

They both looked down at the ring.

“I always thought you chose that really well,” Ron said.  
“I wandered around the shop looking lost until someone took pity on me.”  
“Well if you're ever picking out an engagement ring for me, I hope you put some bloody effort into it then!”

“Oh bloody hell, shut up, or I'm going to stuff this right up your nose.” Harry waved the ring menacingly, a grin lighting up his face.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Good ginger. Beautiful ginger."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I've been agonising over this chapter for a good few weeks. Wanting it to be right. Wanting it to be just as I wanted it. I hope it delivers - enjoy.
> 
> Warnings: Angst, language, mentioned past infidelity / adultery, Mpreg, divorce, childbirth trauma.

“It's weird, isn't it?” George asked softly.  
“What is?” Ron looked up from the baby he held in his arms.  
“How something so young and tiny can look so much like a wrinkly old man.”  
  
Harry chuckled to himself from his vantage point by the window. He was somewhat glued to the sight of Ron cradling a newborn in his arms, even if it wasn't their own. George and Angelina both looked thrilled and shattered. Their little boy was one week old.  
  
“You can't take your eyes off them,” Angelina said quietly to him, as George launched into a spiel whereby he gave his baby a spindly voice and pretended to be giving a running commentary. “You're so ready for your own, aren't you?”  
  
Shifting in his seat, Harry nodded. He'd hoped he wasn't as transparent as that, but clearly he was.  
  
“It's okay to be excited. Godric knows you've had your fair share of sadness. Be happy.”  
  
He saw her eyes slide over to Ron - pale, gaunt and whose health had taken a drastic turn for the worse. Harry tried to not to put words in her mouth, but he imagined she was thinking along the lines of 'while you can'.  
  
Harry couldn't think too much about the reality of Ron's diminished health. When he did – when he even lightly considered the possibility that the man he loved could die – his chest felt crushed by a horrendous weight and breathing became a struggle.  
  
“And you're okay with... with the name?” he asked finally.  
“I wouldn't given him it if I wasn't. I think in many ways it was always going to happen. I think I'd maybe made my peace with it even before we were married. George lost half of himself on that day in 1998 and I can't blame him for wanting to put some balm on that wound.”  
  
Harry nodded and looked away. His and Ron's own name argument was going round in circles, but with each passing conversation he knew he would not be getting Lily as a first name. What was it about Angelina which meant she'd allowed George to look so determinedly to the past, but Ron would not permit the same?  
  
“Harry, d'you fancy a cuddle?”  
  
Ron's voice cut through a fog that Harry hadn't realised had fallen. When he looked towards the bed there were three expectant faces staring at him. He jumped to his feet and headed over, where Ron was propped up on so many pillows he was halfway down the mattress. He placed one hand at the nape of Ron's neck and used the other to gently caress the end of baby Fred's nose.  
  
“He's beautiful,” he murmured.  
  
Ron looked up at him with a nervous smile, almost as if he was seeking approval for the whole picture.  
  
“And you're beautiful too,” Harry said, sinking his fingers into Ron's hair and stroking his scalp.  
“Not likely.” Ron grimaced. “Not with everything swollen and in such a bloody mess.”  
  
Harry knew what he was referring to. The skin of Ron's stomach was completely shot with angry red stretch marks which he hated.  
  
“It doesn't matter.”  
“You would say that, it's not your skin stretching like something out of a nightmare.” Ron shuddered. “Here. Can you take him? My arms are killing me.”  
  
Harry took his nephew in hand and lifted him slightly so he had a better view of his face.  
  
“All right?” Ron asked, again sounding nervous.  
“Why wouldn't I be?” Harry didn't look away from Fred's sleepy little face.  
“I'm just waiting for the 'oh fuck this'll be mine soon' freak out is all.”  
“Thanks for having so much faith in me,” Harry muttered.  
  
Ron let out a loud grunt of pain as he tried to lean forward – whatever was hurting clearly took his breath away; Harry watched his face screw up in agony.  
  
He'd thought he had known feeling inept before. When his entire future had been out his hands, he'd felt beyond helpless. Seeing Ron in so much pain, however, was on another level entirely. His first thought was always to fix it, to see what could be done.  
  
He hated the fact that there was nothing that he could do to help at such a late stage in the pregnancy. Ron's body was host to something which absolutely should not have been there and it was failing to cope with each further day that passed.  
  
“It's not about faith,” George put in. “I think every parent-to-be has those 'oh, fuck' moments.”  
“Language!” Angelina scolded.  
“He's seven days old. And he's named after a boy who's first word was-”  
“Don't you dare say it.” Angelina huffed.  
  
George stuck his tongue out at her and moved to stand at the foot of the bed. “Where was I? Right. Freaking out. We all freak out, Harry. It's okay.”  
“Did _you_ freak out?” Harry asked, gently stroking his fingers over Fred's downy tufts of ginger hair.  
“Several times,” Angelina interjected before George could answer. “I found him up in the middle of the night doing the most stupid of things.”  
“Cleaning out under the stairs was vital! Where else was he going to sleep?!”  
  
George's joke seemed to linger in the air. Harry glanced up and met Ron's worried stare.  
  
“George!” Angelina hissed angrily. “Bloody hell. Apologise.”  
“Harry's not offended, are you, Harry?”  
  
He forced himself to look away from Fred and meet George's eye.  
  
“I'm not offended,” he said.  
  
And he wasn't. He just didn't like the past leaping out of nowhere and throttling him like that.  
  
“I'm going to take my husband home now,” Angelina informed them. “See who else he can insult on the way.”  
“I honestly didn't mean to upset you,” George said, ignoring her. “I was just... joking.” He shrugged, looking fairly upset himself.  
  
Harry nodded but didn't say anything else as Angelina threw her coat on and came to take Fred from him.  
  
“Take care,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “And you, you rest up and you know where we are if you need us.” She kissed Ron too.  
  
When they were gone, Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.  
  
“Because that wasn't fucking weird at all,” Ron said flatly, before throwing back his blankets.  
“Where are you going?”  
“Slovenia, fancy tagging along for a nice little jolly?” The redhead rolled his eyes. “I need the loo.”  
  
Harry moved forward and helped him out of the bed, making sure to keep a tight grip because Ron's own was much diminished.  
  
“Want me to get the pot?”  
  
He saw Ron's usual look of irritation and inwardly sighed. Ron hated that he needed so much help to use the toilet, and the hospital's suggestion of a bedpan had not gone down well. On the days he'd been forced to use it, Harry thought he'd never seen Ron look as humiliated before.  
  
“No, trust me, you don't want me to use the pot for what I need to do.”  
“Oh. Okay.”  
“Yeah.”  
  
They shared an awkward look together and then Harry sighed. “I can't wait for this to be over. To have you better again, and home.”  
“Believe me when I say I think I want that more than you do, mate,” Ron said, face screwing up with agony again as he tried to take a step.  
  
Though he could no longer visibly hide his pain, Ron had mostly remained very stoic about the whole thing. But Harry had noticed a subtle change over the past week and a half, cracks starting to work through the veneer. It didn't surprised him when he looked up at Ron and found him crying.  
  
“What can I do?” Harry asked.  
  
Ron shook his head and moved backwards to the bed, where he sat down so gracelessly that he nearly missed it completely. Harry rushed to sit beside him, putting a gentle arm around his shoulders and waiting in silence for Ron to say what he wanted.  
  
He sat and sniffed to himself for a while, before reaching up to swipe at his eyes with his fingers.  
  
“Sorry,” he muttered, hanging his head.  
“Don't be fucking sorry. You're taking this all like a champion, Ron.”  
“No, I'm not, because I can't stop crying this week and it hurts so much... I just want to scream at everybody.”  
“Well if you do it's not coming across like that. You just seem quiet and tired.”  
“I wanted to throttle George for what he said to you. Bloody prat. I mean really?!”  
“It was nothing,” Harry dismissed  
“It didn't look like nothing.” Ron shook his head. “You looked like you were about to break down.”  
“Well... I think we both look a bit like that at the minute, so what's the big deal?”  
  
Ron didn't say anything further and Harry was happy to let the subject drop.  
  
“Beautiful baby, though,” Ron murmured.  
“He is.”  
“Hope they haven't jinxed themselves by calling him Fred... if he's anything like the first Fred...”  
“Then George will know exactly how to handle him.”  
“I hope he runs rings around him!” Ron proclaimed, before starting to laugh. “Would serve him right.”  
“Are you ever going to let the teddy bear thing go?”  
“Nope. Never.”  
“Just checking.” Harry grinned to himself as he rested his head on Ron's shoulder.  
  
They sat in quite comfortable silence for a while until Ron's pain became evident again.  
  
“What do you need?”  
“Stop asking me that!” Ron cried frustratedly.  
  
Harry froze.  
  
“I don't know what I want or how to get it. All I know is that I want this baby out and to be out of hospital, but you can't do either of those things so stop asking me what I want!” Frustrated tears welled up in Ron's eyes again and spilled down his cheeks.  
  
Harry opened his mouth to speak but closed it again when he thought that 'what can I do to make this better?' might get him thumped.  
  
“Oh, gods, I'm sorry,” Ron wailed. “I'm sorry for being a bastard, Harry.”  
“You're not. You're nine months pregnant.”  
“Stop making excuses for me!” Ron demanded. “I'm a bastard and I'm not nice and I'm not going to believe otherwise so just stop!”  
  
Chalking up the heightened pitch of Ron's tone to distress, Harry sighed.  
  
“How're those hormones working out for ya?” he asked playfully.  
“Fuck 'em. Fuck them all,” Ron said viciously. “I mean... I thought it was bad enough when I was a teenager and I wanted to hump anything with a pulse. This is something else.”  
  
Ron gave a hard sniff and reached up to rub his nose with the sleeve of his jumper. Harry thought about commenting on how disgusting that was, but decided against it.  
  
 _See, you're learning._  
  
“Maybe you should have a nap?” Harry suggested airily. “Before dinner comes round.”  
  
Ron's eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you don't want to spend time with me?”  
“No, I'm saying you're overtired and in pain and sleep will help. It always helps.”  
“Because I'm not forcing you to stay here, Harry. You have a home to go to if being here is too much of an imposition for you.”  
  
“For fuck's sake.” Harry got to his feet and strode to the other side of the room. “Why are you gunning for a fight?”  
“I'm not, you're the one who's being-”  
“Helpful?”  
“Annoying!” Ron spat.  
“Oh, well, fine. Get yourself to the toilet then.”  
“Fine! I will!”  
  
Harry watched with an inward smirk as Ron struggled to even stand up. After a lot of grunting and swearing, Ron gave up and his shoulders sagged.  
  
“It's fine,” he said haughtily. “It's gone away now anyway.”  
“Well, when it comes back you can get yourself to the loo.” Harry picked up his jacket. “I can't stand you when you're like this. Nothing's right, an answer for everything. At times like this I wonder why the fuck I even love you. You can be really fucking awful to people, d'you know that?! Especially when people are trying to help you, but you won't take their help because you think you're too good for it!”  
  
 _Whoa. That escalated quickly._  
  
Harry hadn't even really known what he was saying – it all just splurged out in a frustrated rush.  
  
Ron's expression was blank as he sat on the bed. “As I said, nobody's making you stay here. And I think if that's how you feel you should leave.”  
“Ron, I -”  
“Harry. Just go.”  
“I'm sorry.”  
“So am I. Still, fuck off, will you?”  
  
They stared at one another again and Harry found it very hard not to react to the tears streaming down Ron's face. But Ron was giving him a look of hard steel and determination through the waterworks, and Harry knew that the redhead needed him to leave.  
  
“Fine. I'll see you... later.” Harry shrugged into his coat and immediately left the hospital room.  
  
He closed the door behind him and walked away, before creeping back to listen with his ear to the wood.  
  
As he suspected, he could hear furious, snotty crying. His chest began to ache. Listening to Ron be upset and knowing he was the cause was crushing, but he knew he wouldn't be welcome if he went back in.  
  
He turned and walked quietly back through the ward, feeling quite close to tears himself. He drew level with the medics' desk and wondered whether he should mention what had happened to the staff. After all, everyone was meant to be actively avoiding stressing Ron out.  
  
But telling them meant admitting to another party, yet again, that he and his boyfriend had been through yet another fight. He hated seeing the pity in their eyes. The look of 'how on earth are these two ever going to cope with a newborn baby?'  
  
“Everything all right?” a Healer asked as he emerged from the office. “Ron okay?”  
“I... uh... we just...”  
“Bit of a disagreement?” The wizard asked bluntly.  
“He's a bit upset.”  
“And you're leaving?”  
  
Harry tried hard not to let the annoyance of being judged by a total stranger show on his face. “He asked me to go.”  
“Sometimes people don't actually mean everything they say, Mr Potter.”  
“Well I think Ron did.”  
  
Ron wasn't the only one who was feeling irritated with everyone, Harry realised. He was imagining wiping the knowing look off the Healer's face with his fist.  
  
“Just... go back. Spend time with him. It'll do you both the world of good.”  
  
Harry looked back nervously along the ward and started walking. He still wanted to punch the Healer but didn't think getting him banned from the hospital at such a crucial point was a clever idea. He didn't need Ron to be any more upset with him and missing the birth would most definitely cause that.  
  
He didn't bother to knock. When he pushed into the hospital room where he'd spent so much of the past few months of their lives, he found Ron a complete wreck, face and eyes red, glistening with tears, snot and -  
  
“Shit, is that blood?”  
  
Ron nodded miserably. “Nose bleed.”  
  
“And how did you end up on the floor?”  
“Fell off the bed. I was coming after you.”  
“You were coming after me?” Harry's throat was suddenly too thick to speak any more.  
“Wanted to apologise.” Ron slumped back against the bedframe.  
  
Harry didn't want to alarm Ron, but there was much more blood than he had ever seen from a nose bleed before. It didn't help that it was smeared all over the redhead's fingers and forearms where he'd tried to wipe it up. It had also dripped off his chin to stain the neck of his t-shirt.  
  
“Okay. Let's get you up,” Harry said, honeying his tone to try and keep things calm. “Can't be good for you down there. Did you land hard?”  
“Yeah...”  
  
Ron sounded more dazed every time he opened his mouth. Harry surreptitiously waved his hand through the emergency spell trigger above the bed which would cause the Healers to come running, and then got down on his knees in front of Ron. He grabbed a box of tissues from the bedside table and started mopping up his boyfriend's face.  
  
The word boyfriend was annoying him. Ron felt like so much more than that, and they were having a medical miracle baby together. Boyfriend seemed so little.  
  
“You came back,” Ron whispered. “You came back even though I told you to go.”  
“Well... I didn't want to leave things like that. And I'm really glad I did... look at you.”  
  
Harry winced as a fresh trickle of blood slid out of Ron's right nostril. Luckily at that moment the door opened and the usual herd of Healers and other assorted medical staff piled into the room.  
  
“I didn't punch him,” Harry promised as he eased back up. “He fell off the bed and has a nose bleed.” He raised his eyebrows at the Healer nearest to him, hoping to inject some urgency into his description without alerting Ron.  
  
“Pretty sure this bloke wouldn't let you even get a swing in,” the Healer responded with wide eyes and a slight nod of his head to show that he understood.  
  
Harry stepped back and let the Healers take over, pressing his back against the wall and trying to keep calm himself.  
  
It was obvious that something was wrong from the way that the Healers were barking short, sharp orders at one another and talking about conditions and considering potions which Harry had never heard of before.  
  
“He's fitting.”  
  
Feeling like someone had dumped a bucket of ice over his head, Harry saw what they said come true. It looked like someone was subjecting Ron to repeated rounds of the Cruciatus, something Harry had always been desperately glad the wizard had never experienced during the war. It had been awful enough listening to Hermione go through it in Malfoy Manor. The idea of Ron being in so much pain made him want to cry.  
  
Crying seemed like a viable option as some more Healers entered the room.  
  
“Harry. I think you should wait outside.” The Healer whom he'd told about the nose bleed turned to him. “We'll keep you updated.”  
“No.” He surprised himself by neglecting to run. “No. I need to be here. Whatever's going on, I want to be here for him.”  
  
He pulled off his coat and barged his way through to the head of the bed. Ron was no longer convulsing but looked awful.  
  
“Pulse and blood pressure stabilising. He's coming down.”  
“Thank Godric for that,” someone said.  
  
Harry reached out and brushed Ron's hair away from his forehead. He was sweating which mingled with the tears and the blood on the lower half of his face.  
  
“Shit.”  
  
When Ron heard his voice he started muttering. His eyelids were fluttering madly and then all the monitoring spells started screaming as Ron began to panic.  
  
“He's trying to say something.” Harry leant down and put his ear closer to Ron's mouth.  
“He probably can't see. Ron. Don't panic. Everything is fine, you're safe and baby's safe. We just need you to keep calm. Can you do that?”  
  
The Healer trying to soothe Ron accepted a large glass bottle of something lilac coloured from a colleague and twisted out the stopper.  
  
“What's that?” Harry asked jerkily. “Is it safe?”  
“It's about the only thing which is going to work here...”  
  
Harry didn't know why he'd even asked – he was no Healer and the people around him had saved both Ron's life and his own countless times in the line of duty for work. But there was something in him which he didn't recognise. He knew fear, and by Merlin he knew he was scared, but there was something else. A protectiveness which he had certainly experienced before, but it was multiplied by a dozen times or more.  
  
Ron could not die. The baby could not die.  
  
“Tell me what's happening,” he demanded, reaching down to pick up Ron's limp hand. “What's going on.”  
“This is what the Muggles would call pre-eclampsia.”  
  
Harry thought he might have heard of that somewhere, but wasn't sure where.  
  
“It's serious. And we have to get baby out as soon as possible to get Ron as well again as possible.”  
“But it's early!”  
“Right now, being early isn't as dangerous to both baby and moth – father.” The Healer caught himself just in time. “I wouldn't like to chance anything. His failing health in the past few weeks. We should have seen this coming.”  
“Seen what?”  
“It's organ failure. His body is packing up. And we need to get baby out now.”  
“Now? Without him even knowing?”  
“Is that... do you think that's a problem?”  
“He should know. He should be aware that his baby is going to be born.”  
“We don't have time.”  
  
Thoughts coming furious and fast, Harry held his breath.  
  
 _I can't do this alone._  
  
“Head's on his way in, he said to prepare for a delivery, get Ron prepped and tell Harry not to panic!” Someone shouted from the doorway.  
“Bit late,” Harry said weakly.  
“If you need to firecall anybody you can use the one in the MediWitch station on the ward. Family or friends?”  
  
Harry's mind suddenly went unbelievably blank. Who on earth could he call to be with him?  
  
“You... need... Hermione.” Ron's words were punctuated with sharp wheezes. “And mum. You need mum.”  
“He means his mum,” Harry murmured.  
  
He had single-handedly never wanted his own mother more. Emotion choked him and someone put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“We'll firecall for you. Sit down, Harry.”  
  
Things seemed to move both in slow motion and super speed. Harry was pushed down into a chair. Someone handed him a cup of water. He felt as though he was underwater, with the pressure closing in on all sides.  
  
“This wasn't how it was supposed to happen...” he said to himself. “It was supposed to be calm. Happy. After everything... we were supposed to be happy.”  
  
Nobody answered him and Harry closed his eyes. All he could see was Ron's bloodied face and deathly pallor.  
  
The room continued around him. The staff started to prepare the space, wheeling in a little cart and parking it directly next to Ron's bed. Harry supposed that was where they were going to put the baby.  
  
 _We have nothing._ “We don't have any clothes,” he blurted out. “It wasn't time. We didn't think...”  
“We've plenty of clothes here,” a witch nearby kindly said, as she went about minimising the surplus furniture in the room to give the Healers as much space as possible. “No matter how prepared you are, there's always something. Don't fret, pet.”  
  
“Harry?” His name was slurred but it was a relief to hear from Ron. He was awake.  
“I'm here.” Harry jumped to his feet and went over to the bed.  
  
Around him and without his notice, the hospital room seemed to have become a clinical wasteland.  
  
“What's happening?” Ron asked.  
“They've got to get her out. It's not safe for her to stay in any more.”  
“Oh... really?”  
“Yes, really.” Harry bent and kissed his forehead. “ I know it's sudden but it's for the best. Everything's going to be okay.”  
“You promise?” Ron implored.  
  
Harry knew he was on the cusp of promising something he had no control over. But the look on Ron's face was making his chest hurt.  
  
“It's going to be okay, and soon she'll be here and you'll not be pregnant any more.”  
“Yaaaaaaaay.” Ron's jubilation was dopey and tired. “How?”  
“Remember we talked about this? The spell that they're going to do.”  
“Weird.”  
“Yeah, it's all pretty weird. But... hey. I think we're pretty au fait with weird these days.”  
“Oh what?” Ron frowned.  
“It's French.”  
“You can't speak French, don't be a twat, Harry.”  
  
Unable to help himself, Harry burst out laughing. Ron grinned sleepily up at him.  
  
“This is nearly over,” Harry said eventually. “And the next part of our lives is starting.”  
“I kinda hoped I'd not be delirious for it.” Ron made a face. “But hey. There're fairies on the ceiling and there's someone standing behind you, but I can't see their face.”  
  
Harry couldn't help himself – he looked over his shoulder. There was nobody there. He felt a fool for hoping. The dead were still dead.  
  
“She's watching over you, Harry.”  
“Who is?”  
  
Ron frowned slightly and looked like he was about to reply when someone burst through the door to the hospital room and made them both jump.  
  
“I'm here, I'm here, did I miss it?” Hermione cried. “Is he okay?”  
  
For the first time since he had found Ron on the floor by his bed, Harry's breath actually seemed to reach his lungs. Oxygen seemed to startle him into action. He dashed to Hermione's side and engulfed her in a hug. “No,” he whispered. “He's not all right and neither am I. I need you. He needs you. Please don't go. Thank you for coming.”  
“Is Molly on her way?”  
“Molly's here!”  
  
Another knot seemed to loosen within him as the Weasley matriarch swept into the room, carrying in her hands a massive overnight bag.  
  
“I've had this packed for weeks,” she said, chucking it on a chair. “Baby clothes, blanket, a bear to give her for her first toy. Everything.”  
“Molly, thank Godric for you,” Harry said gratefully.  
  
He gripped her tightly as she hugged him.  
  
“What's the complication?” Molly asked delicately.  
“They said the muggles call it pre-eclampsia?”  
  
He didn't miss the look which passed between Molly and Hermione and immediately knew the situation was as serious as he had feared.  
  
“So strange,” Molly said softly.  
“What is?”  
“I had the same. With him. I'd had five pregnancies beforehand but with him... he was born by emergency delivery and I was so unwell. I just never thought I'd be nursing _my son_ through the same thing.”  
  
They all turned to look at Ron in the bed; he stared back with a drugged up grin and a half-hearted wave. “Hey.”  
  
“He says 'hey',” Hermione said with a small smile. “Typical.”  
“I'm so glad you're here.” Harry reached for her hand.  
“I'm glad you called me,” she responded without even a heartbeat of hesitation. “What can I do?”  
  
With company, Harry found himself a lot less scared and a lot more in control of his faculties.  
  
“Chocolate,” he said decisively. “I need chocolate.”  
  
Hermione stared at him incredulously.  
  
“I've not eaten since breakfast and I need some sugar. Or one of those energy drinks you tell me will kill me.”  
“I'm going,” Hermione said. Her eyes slid to Ron on the bed, who was lapsing in and out of lucidity. “He's going to be okay, isn't he?”  
“He has to be.”  
“And that's that,” Molly put in forcefully.  
  
Hermione cleared her throat and nodded, before turning on her heel and fleeing the room. Harry looked at Molly, not knowing really what to say to her. He had no idea how she must be feeling, seeing her youngest son in such a state and about to give birth to a child.  
  
“I'll let everyone know. Stay strong, Harry.” She grabbed him in a stranglehold hug and kissed his cheek. “He'll be all right. They know what they're doing.”  
  
Harry turned back to the bed, whereby the a MediWizard was assembling a sort of tent over Ron's abdomen.  
  
“It can distress the moth – parents to see it,” he explained, as he carefully positioned the material which Harry realised would block both his and Ron's view of what was about to happen. “It's a fascinating procedure but only if you've a strong stomach.”  
  
“Is he going to feel it?” Harry reached out and stroked Ron's forehead. “Will it hurt?”  
“He's going to feel strange. There won't be pain as such, but essentially there will be two hands inside of him removing a foreign object.”  
“Is there going to be blood?”  
  
Harry knew he'd asked all of the same questions before, but for some reason he needed to hear the answers again.  
  
“There will be some, on the baby and the Healer's hands. But hopefully none on Ron.”  
“And how does it work again?” Harry found he couldn't stop touching Ron's face – he was certain the redhead was going to tell him to fuck off if he didn't stop.  
  
He couldn't help it, however. Ron was beautiful even though he looked like hell, and right then and there, he was everything.  
  
 _Probably the last time he's going to be everything. Because when that baby comes out and there are three of you, 'everything' changes._  
  
He suddenly felt struck with remorse that he'd never told Ron _just_ how much he loved him, or made him feel special as often as he could have. There would be time, but it would be _different._  
  
“So the Healer will cast a spell which basically makes the skin and stomach muscles permeable. If all goes well – and it will – he should be able to simply sink his hands into Ron and bring the baby out. We need to be very careful that we get every last bit of placenta out so nothing remains in Ron's body once the baby is out. And we also need to be able to see any damage caused which might need repairing before we end the enchantment.”  
“How long does it last?”  
“The human body can generally start to beat the spell after thirty minutes.”  
“Not much time...”  
“It's plenty. Everything will be fine.”  
  
“Better fucking be fine,” Ron muttered, and Harry met his eye.  
“It will be.”  
  
Ron looked like he might be about to argue when he suddenly blushed and started to giggle.  
  
“What's funny?” Harry frowned.  
  
Ron beckoned him closer by tilting his chin and Harry obliged.  
  
“That guy just touched my willy, Harry.” Ron started to snort because he was giggling so hard.  
  
Harry found himself caught between laughter and choking as cold air hit the back of his throat. Through watering eyes he stared incredulously at Ron.  
  
“I have _never_ heard you use that word.”  
“Well... he did. Touch it I mean.”  
“Well he's a medical professional, I don't think you should worry.” Harry felt hysterical laugher rising in his throat.  
“Oi, mate, I feel like I should buy you dinner!” Ron called out. “You. The one with the nice bum. Yeah! You!”  
  
Harry looked between Ron and the Senior Healer he was pointing wildly at. “I am so sorry, it's the drugs-”  
  
The Healer held up a hand and shook his head. “I've had worse propositions, believe me.”  
“I'll give you a proposition all right,” Ron said. “C'mere, I can show you a right good time.”  
  
All around them laughter rang out and Ron stared around at everyone with wide eyes.  
  
“I could show you all a good time,” he muttered sleepily, before dropping his head back on his pillow.  
“Finished?” Harry asked. “Cheating on me with half the hospital...”  
“Awh, Harry, you know the only bloke I'd let fuck me is you.”  
“I am so glad your mum isn't here to hear her darling son preparing for childbirth like this.”  
“She's gone?” Ron asked, his eyes widening.  
“Oh, no, she's just outside. She'll be back.”  
  
For all his previous bravado, Ron suddenly looked very gaunt and very unwell and more than a little exhausted.  
  
“And Hermione's gone to get some chocolate.”  
“Okay. Harry...”  
“Mm?”  
“I don't want them in here when... just you. Yeah?”  
  
Harry couldn't swallow for the ache in his throat.  
  
“Just me. If that's what you want.”  
“I wants.”  
“You're really sweet when you're doped up, you know that? When you're not cruising for sex, that is.”  
“I can get anyone I want!”  
“Pretty sure you could.”  
“But I only want you.”  
“Stoppit, you're making me blush.”  
  
Harry leant forward and kissed Ron's forehead.  
  
“Anyone ready to have a baby?” the head of department asked, heralding his arrival.  
“You bet your fucking arse I am,” Ron slurred cheerily.  
  
He was getting paler by the second, however, and one of the charms monitoring him started making a klaxon-like sound. Once again the mood changed instantly and Harry's chest tightened as the head of the Maternity department called for gloves.  
  
“I'm scared.” Ron's grip on Harry's hand tightened.  
“Me too,” Harry assured him.  
  
-  
  
Harry had been in shock enough times in his life to know that he was in shock. He felt severed from reality. They'd bundled him out of the room when the screaming of the monitoring spells became deafening. The layering of the baby's crying over the top had pierced right through him.  
  
That she was screaming was good, he knew. She was alive with working lungs and making herself known. It had only been fifteen minutes since he'd been shoved into the hallway but it felt like forever. On either side he was flanked by the two most important women in Ron's life. Molly had a face like thunder. Harry was grateful he was in too much shock to be angry.  
  
Shock hadn't quashed the overriding terror that when the door opened again Ron would be dead.  
  
“He can't be dead. He can't.”  
“Harry, the door -” Hermione hit him needlessly on the arm.  
  
“Harry.” The Healer gestured him in. “Ah. Just the father of the baby for now, please?”  
  
Harry glanced over his shoulder. Molly looked like she was going to implode. Hermione put an arm around her and held her back.  
  
“What happened?” Harry asked, thinking his own voice sounded so strange and distant.  
  
The Healer closed the door behind him.  
  
“Oh my god.” Harry was unsure of where to look first – at the snuggled bundle in the trolley next to the bed, or at Ron, whose lips were bloodless and whose face was so pale even his freckles seemed to have faded. He was, however, awake. “Ron?”  
  
“P-Pick her up. She needs a c-cuddle.” Ron's words stuttered as his jaw shook, seemingly uncontrollably. “She needs to f-feel us.”  
  
Harry's hands suddenly felt like they were made of cardboard tubes. How could they be trusted to hold a tiny human – their baby? But somehow he was doing it, lifting her up. She was heavier than he expected.  
  
“7 pounds on the nose.”  
“Is that okay? Is she okay? Is he okay? What happened?”  
“It's okay. Ron suffered multiple haemorrhages when we removed her and the placenta. He's... well, it'll take some time but he will be okay...”  
  
Harry gently kissed his baby's forehead.  
  
“And she's okay? You didn't answer that part.”  
  
He wobbled slightly as the Healer sucked in a deep breath.  
  
“I think you should sit down, Harry.”  
“Why, what's wrong with her?” He demanded. “She looks perfect. Isn't she?”  
  
He allowed the Healer to chivvy him towards a seat, and sat down with the baby tightly in his arms. He looked at Ron and found him smiling in their direction but still dazed.  
  
“You okay?” Harry asked him.  
“Doubt it. I feel like someone let all the blood out of my body and then is putting it back cell by cell.”  
“Well... that's specific...” Harry frowned.  
“Isn't she beautiful?” Ron asked. “So pretty.”  
“She looks like you.” Harry looked down into his daughter's face properly for the first time. “God, she looks the fucking spitting image of you, Ron.”  
  
He was crying but didn't remember when he'd started. He sniffed pathetically and fought to breathe amidst the emotion.  
  
“She has your nose, and she's ginger,” Harry wailed happily.  
“Oi, what's wrong with being ginger?!” Ron protested as vehemently as his state would allow.  
“Good ginger. _Beautiful ginger._ ” Harry gasped the words through the tears which wouldn't stop dripping down his cheeks.  
  
“Uh... if you'd like, I can give you some time?” The Healer said.  
  
Harry had been so carried away that he'd somehow forgotten that he'd been told to sit down and that the Head of Maternity had an extremely serious look on his face.  
  
“So. Baby is here. She's healthy and safe. Ron is safe, he'll be healthy in a few weeks.”  
“Can I go home?” Ron asked hopefully.  
“Not a hope in hell this week, try me next week in a good mood,” the Healer said flatly. “No... look. There's no easy way to say this.”  
“Say what?” Ron wheezed.  
  
Harry looked up expectantly.  
  
“We think... we think the potion which caused you to conceive had another lasting effect.”  
“On Ron?”  
“On your daughter.”  
“But she's fine.”  
“Physically she's fine.”  
“What are you saying?”  
“Your child does not have any magic.”  
  
The room suddenly became very still.  
  
“What?” Ron whispered crestfallenly.  
“Magical children exhibit a type of aura when they are born. It's a brief flash so the Muggles nearly always miss it – but here we physically employee someone on each shift to monitor for it.”  
“Well they must have missed it too.” Ron was wearing a stony expression.  
“There was nothing to miss. I'm sorry. There was nothing – and when we performed our routine follow-up tests... they all concluded that there is absolutely no magical ability in this baby. I'm so sorry.”  
  
Harry realised that he had tightened his grip and the tiny human in his arms was starting to protest. He kissed her on the forehead and jiggled her slightly.  
  
“The official confirmation will come from Quill of Acceptance, of course. Which you can apply for when things have settled a little.”  
“The quill of what now?” Harry asked.  
“Records the birth of every magical child in the country,” Ron explained. “It's how they know who to send Hogwarts letters to.”  
  
Harry opened his mouth to reply but it seemed to slam into him at that precise moment that the little girl he'd been dreaming of raising would not have the pleasure of going off to Hogwarts. As a squib, she wouldn't be permitted to attend.  
  
“Our daughter is a squib,” he whispered brokenly.  
“We didn't see this coming.” The Healer shook his head. “I can't help but feel we were idiots. We should have. I mean... what would be the final kick in the teeth? Impregnate a man, nearly kill him, then give him a child that society will shun.”  
“She's going to be shunned?” Harry echoed. He looked up at Ron despairingly. “Ron?”  
  
Ron's blue eyes dipped down to look at her in Harry's arms. “Think about it, Harry. How much did we take the piss out of Filch?”  
“Because he was a miserable old bastard, not because he was unfortunate enough not to have magic!” Harry cried. “Ron. Be serious. You can't say you're going to love her any less because of... because of this?”  
  
For one horrible moment Harry really thought Ron was going to confirm it, but then the redhead shook his head. “Give her to me. She's... she's perfect as she is and I don't know how I love her already but I do. We _made_ her.”  
  
Harry did as he asked and handed her over. Ron gently stroked the fuzzy fluff on her precious little head and and smiled.  
  
“The magical talents of a generation made her and she'll never inherit any of it. Merlin. It's so cruel!”  
  
Harry watched as a MediWitch fled from the room in tears.  
  
“There is something else rather delicate I have to broach. Hospital protocol.” The man who had been their rock throughout the pregnancy suddenly looked very, very uncomfortable. “When a non-magical child is born to pureblooded parents, we are required by the government to advise of the difficulties of raising a child in the shadow of the Statute of Secrecy.”  
  
“How are we meant to hide it?” Harry asked, even more confused.  
“We're not.” Ron's tone had lurched from flat to icy.  
“What d'you mean we're not?”  
  
After a small cough, the Healer said, “We are obligated to advise you to seriously consider giving your daughter up for adoption. In the Muggle world. We have liaison officers that can assist you in this process should you wish to consider it. We... uh...” He cleared his throat again, obviously hating every word of what he as saying. “We advise that should you wish to put your child up for adoption that you act quickly, before emotional bonds are formed and the separation would cause too much trauma for yourselves.”  
  
The first Harry knew of being on his feet was the noise his chair made squealing across the floor. The noise frightened the baby, who began to squall.  
  
“How dare you?”  
“Mr Potter, I'm required by-”  
“And you've said your bloody piece, so shut up. We won't be putting her up for adoption! Christ, all he wanted was an abortion and you wouldn't give him one, and now you want him to give it away? After everything he's been through?! Fucking hell!”  
  
The Healer simply nodded. “Understood. We'll... we'll give you some time now. No moving,” he said sternly in Ron's direction. “You're nowhere near out of the woods yet and still on complete bed rest.”  
  
Harry started to pace as all the medical staff filed out of the room one by one. Only when the door shut did he turn back to Ron. At some point he must have quietened the baby.  
  
“How're we going to raise her when she can't do the things we can?” Harry asked.  
“We'll manage.”  
“What are we going to call her? If she's going to attend a Muggle school we can't very well go and call her something in Latin or something lofty, the kids'd have a field day!”  
  
Ron swallowed.  
  
“We'll call her Lily. It's what you wanted all along anyway. It's special to us and there wouldn't be anything to laugh about when she goes to school. With Muggles.”  
“Special to _us_?” Harry asked.  
“It's special to you and you're special to me. So, by the bye, it's special to me too. And... she looks like a Lily.”  
“How d'you make that out?”  
“She just does.” Ron shrugged tiredly.  
  
Harry drifted to the head of the bed and perched next to Ron. He put an arm around his shaking shoulders.  
  
“You nearly died,” he said matter-of-factly. “You nearly died on me again.”  
“In my defence I knew very little about it,” Ron pointed out. “And... well. She's here now.”  
“Cursed to live without magic.”  
  
Ron gently stroked one of Lily's tiny fingers. “Well. You don't know. Magic got us here. Maybe it's not all it's cracked up to be. Maybe it won't be a curse.”  
“What are we going to do? We can't hide our magic.”  
“Most families just... get by. They perform magic. The kid knows. And the government ignores the situation unless it gets hairy.”  
“And what if she hates us for it? If she can't bear being different to us? What if she hates us for not putting her with a Muggle family where she'll be normal, where she won't be the odd one out?”  
  
He knew his distress was manifesting in his rising volume.  
  
“Harry. Do you want to put her up for adoption with a Muggle family?”  
“Do you?!”  
“That's not what I'm asking, Harry. Do _you_ want to give her a different life than we can give her?”  
  
Harry shook his head vehemently.  
  
“Neither do I. So. Subject closed.” Ron exhaled hard through his nose with finality. “Right?”  
  
Leaning in, Harry kissed the side of Ron's head.  
  
“Subject closed,” he confirmed.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life resumes, as much as life can resume.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Angst, language, mentioned past infidelity / adultery, Mpreg, divorce, mentions of postnatal depression, blow job.

“Shh, shh.” Ron pressed a kiss to Lily's forehead and kept her close, sniffing from her scant red hair.  
  
Fatherhood was _something else_. Ron wasn't sure he knew which way was up or how long it had been since he'd had an uninterrupted sleep. _Probably since you escaped the hospital._  
  
Two weeks, three days. Lily was already one month old, in which case.  
  
It had been gut-wrenching to watch his baby leave with Harry whilst he stayed in clinical hell. Ron was convinced that he still smelt of hospital after so long entombed in it. He'd no option, however, and even after four weeks of intense treatment and physical therapy, he still felt like a pile of shit.  
  
That was why he wasn't sleeping. The hospital had recommended sleeping draughts, but Ron refused to take them in case they made him sleep through Lily crying. She wasn't a squawker really, and she loved watching the magic that they performed to draw her attention. Mostly she was just interested in eating and sleeping.  
  
“And crapping yourself,” Ron said softly, cradling the back of her head in his palm.  
  
Even though he was struggling, Harry was most definitely blossoming. Ron couldn't recall seeing him happier. He was bouncing around Grimmauld Place with a grin on his face and had taken to humming cheerfully as he moved. Most nights he was out of the bed to tend to Lily before Ron could move a muscle.  
  
Ron supposed that would change when he returned to work, but he was trying not to think about that. Every day brought them closer to the time when he would be the sole entertainment for a tiny baby day in, day out. There was no question of him returning to work with his health so poor. He didn't want to think about managing without Harry.  
  
It wasn't as if he could just bung Lily in her pram or carry her against him – he hated the attention they got from Muggles and they weren't exactly welcome in the Wizarding world.  
  
Growing up, Ron had known that those born without magic were pitied in magical society. He had pitied them himself. He'd heard his mother sighing over stories in Witch Weekly about heartbroken mothers having given up their babies for adoption in the Muggle world and found her wet-eyed to boot. What he'd not expected was the poison that people also spewed along with their pity.  
  
He shuddered remembering some of the more violent letters they'd received.  
  
The thought of someone taking his daughter away and killing her simply for being born different made him want to be sick. She was perfect. The only thing she didn't have was magic and, given what he'd seen over the weeks since she'd been born, he really wasn't convinced magic was a beneficial attribute.  
  
Then again, magic made looking after a baby a hell of a lot easier than if they'd been trying without.  
  
The idea of physically having to deal with a tidal wave of diarrhoea also made him feel sick.  
  
He bent over and laid her gently down. She was already asleep.  
  
Every time he found himself staring lovingly at her, Ron remembered the early days of his pregnancy where he'd wanted anything but to carry and have a baby. He'd hoped when she was born that those feelings would be trounced by the love he then felt for her, but the reality was different.  
  
He felt no regret over the feelings and actions which had made up those first months. They still felt justified. He loved Lily fiercely and had no regrets over going through with it either, but it wasn't as settled as he hoped he'd feel.  
  
With a sigh he crept out of the room and pulled the door to. He scrubbed his hands over his face let out a little moan.  
  
He was exhausted, and he thought he'd been exhausted before he'd given birth. He drifted back down through the house, dragging his feet and thinking about bed. It was only seven in the evening.  
  
“Harry?” he called out.  
“Kitchen!”  
  
He loped his way down into the basement kitchen and then blinked.  
  
“Whoa. How long was I fucking up there?”  
  
Long enough, it seemed, for Harry to have produced a fancy dinner, laid the table, lit candles and poured wine.  
  
“No, seriously.” He frowned. “What's going on?”  
  
Harry dried his hands on a tea towel and chucked it aside. Ron stayed frozen as Harry walked over and put his arms around him.  
  
“It's our anniversary.”  
“Is it?” Ron asked dumbly, letting his jaw fall open. “Wait. Anniversary of what? We've not been living together for a year.”  
“The first time we kissed,” Harry informed him with a small smile.  
“You... I didn't remember. I'm sorry,” Ron whispered. “I had no idea. Fuck.”  
“I didn't do this to make you feel bad, Ron, or to make any kind of point. I did this because I wanted to do something nice for you. Us.” He shrugged. “There's no agenda.”  
  
Though he stood there at over six foot, Ron rarely recalled feeling smaller.  
  
“C'mon,” Harry said, taking one of his hands and tugging on it. “I made your favourite.”  
“When did you have time to make this? I've literally been upstairs for half an hour, Harry.”  
  
Only then did Harry go a little pink and look guilty. “Okay. So I didn't exactly cook it, but I ordered it, specially, for you. From that place you like.”  
  
Ron chuckled to himself as he sat down on his usual side of the table.  
  
“And I even spent more than a fiver on the wine.”  
“Bloody hell, Harry, we're not royalty.”  
“Sometimes you gotta treat yo' self, baby.”  
  
Shaking his head, Ron watched Harry pour them both a glass. He'd even put on a nice shirt.  
  
Ron was pretty sure his hoodie had baby sick on it.  
  
“You must feel so lucky,” he muttered, embarrassedly trying to brush away a worrying stain on his shoulder.  
“I'm the luckiest man in the world.”  
“No need to over do it. I'm not supposed to drink,” he said doubtfully, looking at his waiting wine.  
“One glass isn't going to kill you,” Harry said kindly. “But don't if you don't want to.”  
“Oh, believe me.” Ron curled his fingers around the stem and lifted the glass to his lips. “I really fucking want to.” He sipped a mouthful of the ruby liquid and moaned through it.  
  
Harry laughed as he picked up his knife and fork. “Lily get off okay?”  
“I don't think she ever properly woke up. What a life – cry, get fed, go back to sleep.”  
“She takes after you, that's your favourite state too.”  
“Fair comment.” Ron nodded. “Harry... this is so nice.”  
“Well, yeah. I _do_ love you, y'know? I don't buy nine quid wine for just anybody.”  
  
Laughing felt good, Ron realised, as they sat and fell into an easy, pleasant meal together. Harry was on full-on charm offensive and Ron could tell where it was all leading, but he couldn't exactly blame the wizard sitting opposite him. They'd not slept together for months. The few times Harry had suggested the idea Ron had put him off, not even having to make up some sort of physical ailment which would prevent him from doing the deed, because they were all absolutely true.  
  
He was starting to get really worried that something was very wrong, because he loved Harry, and before the pregnancy they'd been all over each other like they were in heat. Even while he was pregnant the sex had been excellent.  
  
 _And now..._ Now the thought of sex made him want to curl up in a little ball and cry. The hospital had put his body back to rights after he'd given birth, though they couldn't get rid of the stretch marks. He had a flat stomach with scary red vein-like streaks across it and he hated them. His mother had tried the 'those are your battle scars' line but he'd hated that even more.  
  
“You've gone quiet,” Harry said softly. “What's up?”  
“Nothing.” Ron forced a smile onto his face.  
“Ron...”  
  
Harry was looking at him expectantly, his eyebrows raised and his expression clearly stating that he didn't believe Ron at all.  
  
Ron sighed and slumped where he sat. “I know what you want, Harry.”  
“What do I want?”  
“You want sex,” Ron muttered, looking down at his lap.  
“What?!” Harry cried, clearly insulted, and Ron knew then that he'd misjudged the situation. “You think I want to have sex with you and that's why I put on a nice dinner and got changed?”  
  
“I guess I was wrong then.” Ron shrugged. “It just... I know that it's bugging you.”  
“Bugging me?”  
  
Ron nodded and found he was too ashamed to look up.  
  
“I did this because I thought you deserved something nice. That's all. Not because I wanted sex from you. I mean, don't get me wrong, if you want sex we can have sex because I'm not a fucking idiot and I hate not having sex with you, but we're not having sex until you're ready, and you're not ready! So we're not having sex!”  
“Could you say the word 'sex' any more times?” Ron asked.  
“SEX.” Harry half-shouted.  
“You'll wake the baby.”  
“Seeeeeeeeex,” Harry hissed in a whisper across the table.  
“Ew, that sounded like when you used to speak Parseltongue.”  
“Seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeex.”  
  
Ron couldn't help snorting to himself and slurped some more wine.  
  
“Well, there's a smile, at least.” Harry sighed. “Why is sex bothering you so much?”  
  
Sucking on his lower lip for a while to delay answering, Ron reached out and started to play with his fork. “I just... I'm not feeling like myself at the minute. And I don't... I don't have any interest. In it.”  
“It? Not me?” Harry asked nervously.  
“Of course not you, Harry. I love you. It all just... turns my stomach a bit. I don't know why. Maybe because of what we've been through. Everything that's happened. I'm scared of... of it happening again.”  
“Well, I wasn't suggesting I fuck you. I think that broom has flown forever, don't you?”  
“I dunno. But I don't... the thought of it, spunk. It makes me feel a bit sick.”  
  
Ron could tell that Harry was trying his hardest not to look hurt.  
  
“It's not you. It's me.”  
“Oh, like I've not heard that before,” Harry retorted, but he was half-smiling.  
“I've loved you since we were eighteen, Harry. Nearly a decade. Do you really think I'm just going to go off you like that?” He clicked his fingers; it made his arm hurt.  
“No. But... I'd be a fucking liar if I didn't pretend I wasn't afraid of that.”  
“Why would you be?”  
  
It was Ron's turn to conceal the pain. He hated that Harry had such little faith in him.  
  
“I don't know... Hermione...”  
“Oh that is _not_ fair, mate,” Ron said. “You know it near enough broke my heart to leave her.”  
“And live with me? I'm sorry it was so terrible for you.” Harry's tone had turned cold.  
“Stoppit!” Ron cried. “Stop twisting my words! I love you, I always have and I always will. Just right now I don't feel like banging you because I've carried a baby for eight and a half months and I feel like death warmed up.”  
“Whatever!”  
“Really mature, Harry. Well done on ruining a really lovely night.” Ron sarcastically toasted him with his nearly-empty wine glass. “What's the matter with you?”  
“You won't touch me! I thought that if, y'know, got a bit romantic you'd... respond.” Harry shrugged helplessly.  
  
“I touch you,” Ron said, taken aback. “And sweet Circe, I knew I was bloody right about the dinner!”  
  
“No. It's like when you were pregnant and you didn't want the doctors to touch you, only me – but now I'm on the shit list too.”  
“You're not,” he promised. “Fuck, you're really, really not Harry.”  
  
Ron swallowed and put his elbows on the table. Harry stayed still.  
  
“I... I know I'd said I'd work on feeling insecure, and I am – I really fucking am,” Harry said, looking down at his empty plate. “But I can't help it. I'm scared you're going to just... go.”  
“Go where?”  
“I don't know, away. Leave me with... Lily and just... go.”  
“Why?” Ron cried wildly. “Why on _earth_ would I leave you? I love you! And as much as I swear about her, I love that little shit-machine upstairs with every fucking ounce of my being in the same way. I love you both. Why the hell would I up sticks and abandon you?”  
  
He realised as soon as the word was out of his mouth that he'd said the wrong thing. Something in Harry's countenance simply broke on hearing the word he was clearly fixating on.  
  
Ron felt like a prize idiot, recalling Charlie's words in the hospital. _“Everyone he's ever loved has left him.”_  
  
Without a clue how to fix it, Ron got to his feet and rounded the table. Though bending over hurt, he wrapped his arms around Harry from behind and clutched at him for dear life.  
  
“I'm not going anywhere,” he said simply. “I don't want to leave you. I love you. Even if you do feed me to try and trick me into sex.”  
  
Harry didn't so much as chuckle. Ron sighed and kissed his messy black hair. They stayed in place, his back hurting like all hell.  
  
“I got pudding,” Harry said finally. “Those melt-in-the-mouth chocolate sponge things you like.”  
“And you question that I love you,” Ron muttered ruefully. “Those things are like...”  
“Sex?” Harry supplied dully.  
“Sex,” Ron confirmed. “Who knows. Maybe they'll... do something.”  
“I don't want you to have sex if you're not ready.”  
“Well. We'll find out, won't we?” Ron said.  
  
He kissed Harry's ear.  
  
***  
  
“She looks like you,” Angelina said, cocking her head to one side.  
  
Ron shook his head. “Nah, it's all Harry. Thank god.”  
“We always see everyone else in them but ourselves, I think. All I see in Fred is George, but George thinks he's inherited my resting bitch face.”  
  
Laughing, Ron nodded at Lily. “When she's having a shit, she pulls the same face as Harry.”  
“And you know that because?”  
“Tent. Camping. Non-existent seventh year. Horcruxes. Misery. A shared bucket.”  
  
Angelina looked like she might be sick and Ron laughed harder.  
  
“And how are you, hmm?” she rounded on him. “Still feeling rough?”  
“Than the proverbial,” Ron confirmed.  
  
Sex had been exhausting, as it turned out. He could feel it in every single joint, and it had been a few days.  
  
“But you're all right?” Angelina pushed.  
“I think I am. We're all still alive, Lil seems happy enough. I'll take that.”  
  
Worried eyes surveyed him and Ron sighed. He bent down and picked up his baby for something to do, to draw attention away from his failing health and magic. Not that he'd told anybody the extent of it. He knew Harry must have seen it but was being too polite or too scared to mention it.  
  
He fought to stop his hands from shaking as he cuddled Lily into his chest.  
  
“I bet you're sick of people crying over you. Over her. But you're honestly the most beautiful little family, Ron.”  
“You wouldn't think that with the letters coming off the owls. You'd think we were trying to murder her.”  
  
Angelina reached out and stroked Lily's hair. “It's all a load of bullshit. She's so loved. That's all she needs.”  
“I hope you're right. I can't help but... Everyone says that we've come so far, that Muggle integration has come on and that we're better for it. But not according to the letters on my kitchen table.”  
“You didn't go through hell to give her away to someone else.”  
“No. I didn't. But it's... I just wonder if it is the right thing. I'm going to do it anyway, because she's ours and we love her and even leaving her to sleep feels like someone's kicking me in the balls, but... further down the line. When she's older. When she steals one of our wands and nothing happens... I can already see the look on her little face, Ang, and it's so fucking sad.”  
  
When no reply came, Ron glanced up. Angelina's brown eyes were full of tears and she had a hand over her mouth.  
  
“Sorry. Bloody depressing.” Ron mentally shook himself. There was no need for misery at such a happy occasion.  
  
A belated birthday gathering for Victoire, as it happened.  
  
“You deserve to be happy,” Angelina repeated softly. “Don't let anyone take away from that. You have a miracle in your hands.”  
  
She hooked one arm around Ron's shoulders and kissed first his cheek, then the top of Lily's head.  
  
“Are you and George okay?” Ron asked quietly, looking over to where his older brother was in conversation with their dad. “Have things... picked up?”  
  
He'd been too ill to do anything about it from his hospital bed, but George's mood had taken a massive dive. Depression had almost killed him once before, and everything they'd done as a family since had been an effort to stop him from going back there.  
  
Angelina looked like she was considering her answer.  
  
“Be honest,” Ron prompted.  
“It's not just him. I saw a Healer the other day. He diagnosed me with postnatal depression and packed me off out of the door with the same potion that George's dosed up to the eyeballs on.” Angelina looked down at the grass. “It's always bad at this time of year but I think... with the baby, and... everything...” She sniffed hard. “Life's shit sometimes, isn't it?”  
  
“What can I do?” Ron asked. “Anything.”  
“Be here.” She shrugged. “I don't... I don't know.”  
  
Once upon a time, a woman dissolving into tears in front of him would have been his worst nightmare. But he was bigger and uglier and he'd done his fair share of bawling his eyes out in recent months, and he knew what he'd want if the situation was reversed.  
  
He quickly put Lily back down next to Fred in the soft travel cot they'd set up and took hold of Angelina's arm, pulling her away from them. She followed without question.  
  
“Harry,” he murmured, pausing behind him so that he could speak quietly into his ear. “Watch the kids.”  
  
Emerald eyes flicked between him and Angelina and Harry blinked in understanding, and reached out to brush something off Ron's jumper. “You okay?” he mouthed.  
  
Ron gave him a wink in response. The Burrow was bathed in spring sunshine and it felt good to be out in it, and, as he led Angelina round the side of the house, he had to admit it felt refreshing to have purpose outside of Harry, outside of Lily. It felt good to be useful.  
  
He surprised himself with a show of agility as he managed to vault the fence marking the boundary line of the wards like he had when he was a kid. Ron held out his hand to help Angelina over but only received a withering – if teary – stare before she matched his jump.  
  
“Fair point,” he conceded. “You are awesome.”  
  
Angelina laughed and sniffed hard as she righted herself. “Where are we going?”  
“Not fair. Just through here.” Ron shoved his hands in his pockets and led the way along a path through the trees. “I used to hide here when I was little and the twins were terrorising me.”  
  
Everyone knew about the tiny pond, but none of the others ever spared it any time or attention. Ron had always loved it for that reason.  
  
“Yay, my swing's still here!”  
  
He bounded to it and tested his weight on the ropes before properly sitting down.  
  
“When I was seven, I perfected the art of the swing-leap-splash move straight into the pond which nearly broke my ankle when I was nine,” he said proudly. “Ah, man. Mum was _so_ cross.”  
“Why?” Angelina laughed. “Kids have accidents.”  
“Yeaaaah. But I may have told her that Fred pushed me down the stairs instead of how it really happened.”  
“You little shitbag!”  
  
Ron snorted. “Hey. It was Crup eat Crup in this house when I was kid. You fought hard or went home.”  
“So what, you limped all the way to the house and then pretended to be found in a heap at the bottom of the stairs?”  
“That is _exactly_ what I did,” Ron said smugly.  
“And, because I know my husband and I knew his brother, what was the retaliation?”  
  
Ron found himself chuckling. Angelina laughed too.  
  
“They managed to steal Mum's wand and cursed all my pants so that when I put them on, they disintegrated. Mum was even crosser after that.”  
  
Angelina sighed. “Oh, Godric, our kids. Our kids, Ron. They're going to run circles around us!”  
“Yeah, but we all turned out right in the end so...” he shrugged. “I mean, Charlie's a bit weird, but the rest of us came out pretty respectable, or at least useful, so don't worry your head about it.”  
  
Nodding, Angelina wiped her nose on her hand.  
  
“Feeling better?” Ron asked.  
“Much. Thank you.”  
  
Ron softened his leg and let the swing carry him with its momentum.  
  
“Everything's going to work out, right?” she whispered.  
  
-  
  
“Hey, someone's in here!” Harry cried.  
“I know, that's why I'm coming in,” Ron explained, quickly locking the bathroom door behind him.  
  
Ron wasn't quite sure what had come over him, but something about the way Harry had looked at dinner had stirred something in the pit of his belly that refused to go away. It was even still there as he looked at his black-haired boyfriend with his hand on his dick, urinating.  
  
“I'm pissing here,” Harry said, dismayed.  
“Yeah, like I've not seen that before. Tent, Horcruxes, bucket. Ugh. That's the second time I've relived that bucket today.” He shivered. “It's amazing we still want to fuck one another.”  
“Do we?” Harry asked, rolling his eyes as he returned to relieving himself.  
  
That hurt, but Ron didn't comment on it. Instead he crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his hands into his armpits; he'd spent too long outside and had seemingly caught a chill.  
  
 _You're fucking twenty-nine and you've 'caught a chill'._  
  
He waited until Harry had zipped up his jeans and washed his hands before he spoke again.  
  
“Have you had a good day?” he asked.  
“Yeah. Been good to see everyone. And I think Lily enjoyed herself... as much as a one month old can express enjoyment, I mean. She liked the colours in the Fireworks.”  
“Didn't like the noise, though,” Ron added, wincing at the reminder of her screaming.  
“She's got a good set of lungs on her, that's for sure.”  
  
Harry finally turned to him and looked expectantly up. “What?”  
  
Ron was unable to help himself as he grabbed Harry by the waist and swung his back into the nearest wall. He followed it up by pressing his body hard up against Harry's. He was more surprised than anyone that he was suddenly sporting an erection.  
  
“Is that..?” Harry whispered.  
“Shh... you might scare it away.” Ron dropped his head and put his mouth on Harry's throat, inhaling the smell of him and using his teeth to nip at the skin.  
  
Harry practically shuddered beneath him and let out a noise that Ron hadn't had the pleasure of hearing in quite some time. It reminded of him of when they'd carried on together in secret – the desperation and the fear and the stolen moments. Now they were committed, they were parents and they were trying to find their way again, and stolen moments were very much hard to come by.  
  
“Are you really going to – uh! Shit, yes you are, you're going to suck me off in your parents' bathroom!” Harry gasped, as Ron sank to his knees and unbuttoned Harry's jeans. “Ron... oh fuck, _Ron._ ”  
  
He'd always loved hearing Harry lose control, and as he pulled down denim and stretchy cotton trunks, he looked forward to more. He mouthed over Harry's cock, licking out with his tongue and making the wizard whimper. When clawing fingers sank into his hair and gripped, Ron had to fight back his own breathy groan. He could have teased and dragged it out, but he knew in reality that he wasn't that cruel – or bothered: he just wanted Harry's dick in his mouth because, if he was honest, there very few things that thrilled him more than being on his knees sucking Harry off. It just felt so dirty.  
  
“You fucker,” Harry breathed, tipping his head back against the wall and rolling his hips forward.  
  
Ron took the brunt of his shaft heavily over his tongue. It'd been a while and he had to work on not gagging, but eventually he managed to work up some suction, enough to make Harry rise up onto his toes and whimper.  
  
Harry had grown so loud that there was no doubt if there was anyone on the landing, they'd be heard. Unlike all of those times before when avoiding discovery had been paramount, Ron found himself thrilled by the idea of someone hearing them. He'd never considered an exhibitionist streak before, but as he knelt with his kneecaps stinging and pre-come leaking in his mouth, he fucking _loved_ the idea of being found.  
  
“Gonna...” Harry's pitiful warning wasn't really needed.  
  
Ron reached up and cupped already-tight balls in his palm, which shoved Harry over the edge.  
  
“You... fucker,” Harry panted. “Christ, Ron, what on earth?”  
  
Ron made a point of a loud and sloppy swallow before pulling back. He licked his lips for good measure.  
  
“I don't...” Harry flapped a hand in front of his face. “Fuck, it's hot. Is it hot? I feel hot.”  
“You are hot,” Ron confirmed, rising to his feet.  
  
In his head, it was going to look sexy and collected – but his body had other ideas. One knee locked, causing him to stagger face first into Harry's soggy, limp crotch. He groaned, completely mortified, as the tip of the penis he'd so recently been sucking brushed over his right eyelid.  
  
“Ow,” Harry whimpered.  
“Backatcha,” Ron moaned.  
  
He allowed himself to slump sideways onto one hand, but his arm started to hurt too, so he simply let himself fall over.  
  
“Fuck. This,” he said emphatically.  
“You all right?” Harry asked.  
“In my head, that was gonna be hot as fuck. I was going to get up, snog the shit out of you and then make you suck me off.”  
“Make me?”  
“Well... y'know. Ask you. If you'd not wanted to I probably would've just... y'know. Said okay, gone downstairs and had some cake.”  
  
Harry started chuckling and Ron also heard him start to move, the tell-tale scrape of denim over flesh, then a zip and a grunt as he pushed away from the wall.  
  
“Did you hurt yourself when you fell?” Harry asked, and Ron looked up to find him standing over him, hands extended. “C'mon, laying on the cold floor won't do you any fucking good.”  
  
It was harder work than it should have been to get upright, but with Harry's help and a lot of gritting his teeth, Ron managed it. The room was spinning. Strong hands steadied his shoulders and Ron closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.  
  
“When's your next appointment at the hospital?” Harry asked, clearly worried.  
“Few days. When you're having that meeting with Kingsley about going back. Mum's having Lil.”  
  
Harry brushed Ron's fringe out of his eyes. “I think I should be there.”  
“I think you should go to work and discuss getting your career back on track,” Ron disagreed.  
“Fuck my career,” Harry swore hotly. “You're more important.”  
  
Ron took the embrace as strongly as he could, but his leg was killing him and he swayed slightly.  
  
“Harry. You're going to your meeting. I want you to go. I think we need to know what our future's going to be. Or I do, at least.” He hoped that would assuage Harry's insistence on going to the hospital.  
  
If Ron was honest, he wanted to talk to the Healers alone. He wanted to discuss some symptoms which he hadn't actually told Harry about.  
  
They stayed in hold. Ron closed his eyes and enjoyed it.  
  
“Just so you know, apart from the point where you fell over and literally hit me in the balls with your nose, that was _really_ hot. And I'll suck you off later, when we're home, and not next to the bloody toilet.”  
“Atta boy, Harry. Love you.”  
“Love you more.”  
  
***  
“So, she has everything in there. I think. Unless I forgot the milk. Shit, did I forget the milk?” Ron worried, reaching out for the bag on his mum's shoulder.  
“You act as though I don't have an entire pantry full of formula and haven't since you were seven months gone,” she answered pointedly.  
  
Ron nodded, looking at the Lily-shaped bundle in her arms.  
  
“Is this normal?” he blurted finally. “Does it always feel like someone's ripping your guts out when you leave them?”  
  
He'd only realised in a panic the night before that it was the first time he was leaving Lily to someone other than Harry. They'd been out separately and together, but had never actually left her with someone beyond the other. He felt like he was going to be sick.  
  
“I promise, it gets better. And as they get older, any time you can get alone will be cherished. You'll long for the day when you can use the loo in peace.”  
“It feels so... wrong.”  
“If anything's wrong, I'll send you a message by Patronus. And, you know, I'm quite good at this. Somehow I managed to get seven of you past the age of seventeen, Godric forbid. Ron. You're going to be late.”  
  
He glanced at his watch. “I'm going to be later than I already am, you mean.”  
“So go. We're fine. I'm beside myself – all afternoon and evening to snuggle this little one without interruption? I might never give her back!”  
  
Ron nodded and turned on the doorstep. He was unable to help himself as he turned again to kiss Lily on the head and his mother on the cheek. But then he forced his feet to march him outside. The back door of The Burrow shut.  
  
It felt like someone had cut his arm off.  
  
“You're late,” he reminded himself forcefully.  
  
Pulling out his wand, Ron concentrated hard and turned into the Apparition. When he landed in the Auror point, his left hand was stinging. He found he was missing two of his fingernails.  
  
It had been years since he'd accidentally splinched himself, but he didn't have time to fix it if he wanted to see his Healer. He hurried up through the hospital, thinking how nice it was to actually walk through the corridors rather than be wheeled. The whole journey was presided by an overriding sense of anxiety, however, which reared up whenever he visited. So much trauma had occurred within the hospital he'd count it as too soon if he never saw it again.  
  
“Fat chance of that,” he muttered, as he shouldered through the doors to the maternity wing.  
“You're late,” the Healer said, from where he was waiting outside his office. “Is Harry not with you?”  
“No, I wanted to come on my own.” Ron shrugged out of his coat and sat down. “I just splinched myself getting here.”  
  
The Healer made a concerned humming noise and busied himself with sitting down at the desk. Ron waited for him to start the conversation.  
  
“How've you been?” the Healer asked.  
“Tired, everything hurts. Getting dizzy, always cold. The usual.”  
“Bowel movements?”  
“I thought we were past discussing my ability or inability to take a shit?”  
  
The Healer stared at him impatiently over the top of his glasses.  
  
“I'm fine,” Ron promised.  
“Well.”  
  
There was a loaded pause and Ron blinked.  
  
“I'm not fine?” He queried.  
“No, you're not. You're not anywhere near fine.”  
“Okay... so...”  
  
The Healer sighed and took his glasses off completely, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Your body isn't recovering from the pregnancy. The organ failure we found just before you gave birth is continuing. Slowly, but surely.”  
  
“So fix it,” Ron said. “There are potions to improve organ function. Let me have them.”  
“You'll likely be taking them for the rest of your life.”  
“I knew that it was likely I'd be left with lasting damage. Why are _you_ surprised?”  
“We just didn't expect it to be quite so... severe. As progressive.”  
  
Ron got the feeling he was missing something.  
  
“My magic's shot too. Half the spells I'm doing don't even work. I have to have Harry help me. Anything we can do about that?”  
“Nothing except for practice. You'd do well to look at some of the refresher courses out there. Go back to basics. That's often the only thing that helps after a massive trauma... but we've not had a case like yours for so long that we haven't got any clear cut answers.”  
  
He looked decidedly grim, Ron thought.  
  
“What aren't you saying?” he asked. “Something's wrong.”  
“I'm... I suppose I should just come out and say it. If your body continues on same path of decline we're seeing now, you'll be dead in two years.”  
  
Ron thought he might have forgotten how to breathe.  
  
“I know this is... awful news. All I can say we've got nothing to go on, but it's our duty of care to advise you of what we find. I could have kept it from you until we knew more, but... in cases like this, wasting time is cruel.”  
“You're saying I might only have two years to live, when I've just had a baby?”  
  
The Healer looked helplessly back at him.  
  
“Could be two. Could be six. We just don't know. We don't know what the hell that old crock was brewing but it was vicious. We've applied to the Ministry for access to the evidence. After this much time it's unlikely, but if we can test and decipher every bit of residue we can find...”  
  
“And you didn't do this when I first got pregnant because?”  
  
“Because we thought we knew what we were dealing with. But the limited resources we have don't show this sort of decline following the birth.”  
“Probably because everyone carked it during the bloody pregnancy!” Ron cried.  
  
He could feel the beginnings of panic swelling in his chest.  
  
“What can I do?” he asked throatily. “Anything, I'll do it.”  
“You have to take it easy. No exertion. No panic. You need to give your body a fighting chance.”  
“I have a one month old baby!” Ron said. “No exertion? No panic?”  
“Take those damned sleeping draughts.”  
“But then I won't hear her cry.”  
“Ron. You have a choice here. Hear her cry now, be dead when she's up, walking, talking, becoming a person. I know which I'd choose.”  
“But...”  
  
The Healer shook his head.  
  
“This is...” Ron shook his head too. His eyes were completely dry.  
“If you need any help telling Harry, we can arrange another meeting with him present. We wouldn't leave you to do it alone.”  
“No!”  
  
Ron got to his feet and picked up his coat. “Nobody tells Harry. He's terrified that I'm going to abandon him and this... this is me abandoning him.”  
“Ron, you can't seriously be suggesting keeping this from him?”  
“That's exactly what I'm suggesting. For now. You do the tests. You find out what you can. And if there's nothing, if it's the reality that I have years, months, weeks, whatever – then I'll tell him.”  
“The weight of a secret like this, Ron... you can't keep this from him.”  
“Who says? And you can't tell him without breaching patient-healer confidentiality. So this is the end of the discussion. You request the evidence in a way which means he doesn't get wind of you doing it, and for now this stays between me, you and your medical team.”  
  
He shrugged into his coat. “Give me the prescription for the sleeping draughts. I'll take them. I'll do whatever you need me to do.”  
  
The Healer looked tired as he jotted on the parchment under his hand.  
  
“Take care,” he said finally. “I'll have my secretary contact you with an appointment next week – I want to monitor you twice a week from now on.”  
  
Ron wasn't sure how he was going to hide that many appointments.  
  
“You can bring Lily,” the Healer offered. “The staff will look after her whilst we see one another.”  
“Thanks. I'm grateful.”  
  
Ron took the prescription and left the office. The corridor seemed completely without colour. His breath didn't seem to be reaching his lungs.  
  
“Shit,” he cursed desperately, burying his face in his hands.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has no idea of the storm about to break over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter!
> 
> Warnings: Angst, language, Mpreg, divorce, mentions of postnatal depression.

  
“There's my good girl,” Harry cooed.  
  
He was sat in relatively shallow water in the bath, with Lily propped up in between his legs. She wasn't too keen on baths but seemed to prefer them when she shared with one of them.  
  
Despite the fact that he was slightly chilly, Harry had no issue with giving her that assurance. It put them close together, skin to skin, and Lily was burbling happily to herself and enjoying hitting the surface with her little fists.  
  
Finding himself smiling, Harry stroked her hair and looked at the tiny curve of her little nose – Ron's nose through and through. There was so much of Ron in her that some days he struggled to see his own resemblance. The eyes, of course, were blatant. Molly insisted that parents always saw more of the other in their child than themselves and Ron was insistent that Lily was the spit of Harry.  
  
But the freckles, the red hair. Lily was a Weasley.  
  
Humming to himself Harry took a moment to stare out of the window to the summer night outside. The weather had turned balmy earlier than expected and he could hear the sounds of the city enjoying itself on a Friday night. Sometimes he found himself longing to be out there with the workers and the revellers, resenting his status as a new parent. He and Ron had barely had any time alone together over the past month, and sleep was a rarity. Lily had taken to screaming between the hours of one to four and as much as he would have liked to have put the pillow over his head and ignored her sometimes, the reality was that Ron couldn't perform the distraction spells on his own.  
  
Harry let his finger be drawn into one of Lily's fists and watched her for a while. Ron was taking the chance for a decent head start on a night's sleep whilst Harry bathed and put Lily down.  
  
He was keeping a lid on his worry over Ron, or at the very least was attempting to hide how much he _was_ worrying.  
  
His beautiful redheaded boyfriend seemed to be looking more drawn, paler and thinner by the day. He was constantly tired and never seemed to take nourishment from anything.  
  
The only thing he did have and seemed to feed from was joy. He took joy in their daughter and their relationship. Despite everything else he had a smile on his face for the two of them.  
  
A loud giggle sounded through the bathroom then. Harry smelt why before he saw it, but when he glanced down he knew it was as bad as he'd feared.  
  
“This is what's called a poonami. We've discussed this, Lily. You promised you wouldn't do it again.” Harry sighed and reached for his wand, with every second blessing magic and his ability to do it.  
  
He managed to vanish all traces of faeces and sent a few extra cleaning spells at both himself and his baby.  
  
“I guess that's bath time well and truly over,” he grumbled, grabbing Lily under the arms and lifting her up.  
  
She let out a wail of protest as he turned her to face him.  
  
“You had to ruin it, didn't you?” he said. He kissed the tip of her nose. “Good thing I love you, you little turd machine.”  
  
A delighted little giggle was his response and Harry couldn't help smiling again.  
  
“Come on you. It's bed time.”  
  
He used magic to levitate Lily in mid-air whilst he got himself out of the bath and found towels for the pair of them. He grabbed her and gently patted her dry before summoning a nappy and wrestling it on to her on the floor.  
  
“I get that you want to be naked. Your father – I mean your other father – prefers being in the nud too, but he has control of his bowels. Mostly.” He took advantage of a lull in wriggling to secure the nappy. “There. Done. Harry 1, Lily 0. Ha!”  
  
He picked Lily up and walked naked out onto the landing, heading for her bedroom which was next to his and Ron's. He jiggled her as he went, eliciting a giggle which in turn made him smile. The first time he'd seen that smile had been magic. It had followed a night of screaming and Ron had been close to tears. But the second their baby had smiled at them, it seemed a little less terrible.  
  
His boyfriend's propensity to tears was something that Harry was extremely worried about. Considering Ron's recent mental ill health, he was concerned about postnatal depression but didn't know how to raise it. He had no idea if Ron would be at all receptive to his suspicions – if that's all they were.  
  
“Now then. Beddy-byes for you my lovely.” He kissed Lily's head and put her down in her cot. He used magic to dress her in a little baby-gro and watched her for a while.  
  
She seemed content that evening. Harry cast a spell to make her favourite little birds fly around the room and then made a hasty exit. When he pulled the door to a shiver rocked through him and he realised he'd forgotten to dry himself, and that he was completely naked. Harry hurried across the landing to gently open the door to their bedroom.  
  
Ron was sprawled over the massive mattress, his hair sticking up in all directions. He was snoring in his usual trumpeting way. Harry pulled open a drawer and pulled out some pyjama bottoms, hopping into them whilst trying to keep as quiet as possible. Ron gave a loud, painful-sounding snort and Harry sighed.  
  
“Hazzee?”  
“Close enough,” he said, rounding the bed and throwing back the duvet to climb under it. “Budge up, you great lump.”  
  
Ron begrudgingly did so, swearing under his breath until he had settled onto his back. Harry appreciated the pre-warmed sheets and closed his eyes. After a few moments absorbing the peace, he rolled onto his side and cuddled into Ron's body. He kissed his shoulder and inhaled.  
  
As ever, Ron smelled delicious. Harry laid his palm over Ron's belly and rubbed soothingly, causing the redhead to purr.  
  
“Mmmm,” Ron groaned stretching out his legs and throwing his arms over his head. “Nice.”  
“Well that's good to know.”  
  
He leant up for a kiss and Ron obliged, clumsy but soft in his grogginess.  
  
“Lily get off okay?” he murmured.  
“Think so. She shat in the bath again. Like, tidal wave. It was disgusting.”  
  
Ron started to laugh, making Harry's hand bounce on his belly. “Well, if you refuse to charm the nappies and have baths with her on your own... it's a two person job, Harry!”  
“She will not defeat me!”  
“Sounds like she kinda already has, mate.”  
“Oh, sod off.” Harry grinned to himself in the darkness. “Did you get some decent sleep?”  
“Did until you came in here and woke me up.”  
  
Harry gave Ron a half-hearted jab in the ribs in response and smiled to himself in the darkness. A good few minutes passed; Harry grabbed a handful of the duvet and pulled it down to his chin.  
  
“Did you lock up?” Ron asked groggily.  
“I did before we came up for the bath. Like I always do.”  
“Just checking.” Ron gave himself over to a massive yawn. “Still tired. So so tired.”  
“Then go back to sleep,” Harry said. He kissed Ron's shoulder. “It's late. Not like you have to be anywhere.”  
  
Ron grunted in response and he was shortly snoring again.  
  
Harry glanced up at his slack expression, wondering how big the bruise-like shadows under his eyes would be the next morning. How much paler he'd look.  
  
He gave himself a mental shake. If he started thinking about it too much he'd never sleep. If he let the thoughts spiral he'd get in a state. Whilst Lily was quiet he couldn't afford to lose the chance to rest, as Ron didn't seem likely to respond to a three in the morning wake up call.  
  
***  
  
“It's a nice day,” Ron said, clearly trying his best to sound animated – and like he cared.  
“Warm,” Harry agreed, glancing down at Lily.  
  
They were walking through one of the royal parks with the sun beating down on their heads. Lily was sheltered by the pram's hood and was happily kicking about and watching what she could see of the world.  
  
The picnic had been his idea – he wanted them all to spend time together in the fresh air. They'd become so reclusive since Lily's birth that he'd started to long for the outdoors. It had taken him forever to tempt Ron beyond the front doorstep and he was having to keep from skipping along the path.  
  
They were drawing enough attention as it was – he didn't think Ron would thank him for any more. There were stares. Two twenty-something men walking alongside one another, pushing a pram that they were both bending over from time to time. As Ron had pointed out, they were both used to being stared at but the inclusion of Lily added a whole new level of unease.  
  
“How about here?” Harry suggested, jerking his head towards a patch under a large tree. “Sunshine for me and plenty of shade for pasty among us.”  
“Watch who you're calling pasty,” Ron muttered as he helped Harry lift the pram onto the grass. “There's nothing wrong with being pale and interesting, mate.”  
  
Chuckling to himself, Harry wheeled Lily over and parked her in the shadows of the leaves. He bent and pulled the blanket from the lower shelf and chucked it at Ron.  
  
“Spread that out, will you?” he asked. “Half in the shade, half in the light.”  
  
Ron rolled his eyes but followed Harry's instructions without comment. Harry unhooked the bag containing the food he'd hastily made and waited for Ron to settle the blanket before he put it down on the edge.  
  
“Careful now, wouldn't want to squash your stale sarnies, would you?” Ron grinned.  
“They're not stale!” Harry protested. “They're fine.”  
“Then you can have the first one, can't you?” Ron laughed, dropping onto his knees.  
  
He looked up then, his eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun. The same sun caught the colour of his hair and made it blaze. With a smile on his face he looked stunning – the paleness and the dark shadows had been bleached out of existence. Harry was frozen by the sight of him.  
  
“Pass me the baby bag, will you? Madam's due a feed and you know what she's like if she misses one.”  
  
Harry pulled himself together enough to hand over the bag, but took a moment for a few fortifying breaths with his back turned as he removed Lily from the pram. Only when he felt stronger did he turn around and join Ron on the blanket.  
  
“Now, Lil, this is what's called sunshine. We don't see an awful lot of it round these parts so you'd best get your fill whilst you can... daddy smeared you in enough sun cream to last you five weeks, so you're good there.”  
“She's a baby!” Ron cried defensively. “And worse than that she's a Weasley baby, and you know how quickly we burn.”  
“Yeah, I've got memories of you in Magaluf unable to get out of bed for the entire holiday. Having to give you water every fifteen minutes so you didn't dehydrate.”  
“Er, I think you'll find that it was _Hermione_ that took on the nurse duties. You were outside getting off your tits on warm lager and pissing off the lifeguards by doing cannon balls into the pool.”  
  
Harry laughed at the memory. “Yeah. That's accurate.”  
“I don't think I felt that ill again until this one.” Ron pointed at Lily. “Give her here. Feeding time at the zoo.”  
  
Harry happily handed over their baby and started to unpack their picnic. He had to admit that none of it looked very appealing, but he'd made it at speed whilst Ron entertained Lily. Ron shifted the baby into her preferred feeding position and offered her the bottle.  
  
“It must be really tough being a Muggle and having a baby,” Ron mused, cocking his head to one side as he looked down at his daughter. “I mean. We can charm the bottles so they're the right temperature, perfectly preserved for whenever we need them. And the formula is ten times better than what they can get their hands on.”  
“I guess you have to remember that a lot of women breastfeed. So milk on tap wherever baby needs it.”  
  
Ron nodded. “I'm so glad that wasn't a bloody side-effect of the potion. Might have been the final straw.”  
“After all that, it would have been an extra kick in the teeth...” Harry agreed. “Fuck it. I forgot something to drink.”  
“It's no bother, there's a cafe over there. They'll have something.”  
“You or me?” Harry asked.  
“Not fussed, happy to stay here with Lil. Or go. Whatever. I'm not even thirsty. Go later.”  
“You'll be really bloody thirsty when you taste how stale these sandwiches are, believe me.”  
  
Ron's laughter was rich and warm and it felt like an extra dose of sunshine poured onto Harry on hearing it. He spared a wry thought for how sentimental he was being. Ron would be mercilessly taking the mick if he knew everything that was being thought.  
  
“Why don't you just buy some more in the cafe and drop the lot in the bin on your way there?” Ron suggested.  
“I think that'd be best.”  
  
Harry lobbed everything back into the bag for ease and got to his feet. “Any preferences?”  
“At this point anything edible is welcome.”  
“Git.”  
  
He set off across the grass, unable to keep the smile from his face.  
  
He stopped at a bin and made to tip it all out, but someone caught his eye. A young woman sat directly on the grass in front of him. It wasn't the little toddler that first drew his attention, but the pinched expression of the woman watching over him.  
  
Harry recognised that pinched look. He sometimes still wore it himself.  
  
They had nothing with them.  
  
-  
  
Harry fell back down onto the blanket with an 'oomph'. Ron looked at him expectantly.  
  
“What did you get? I'm starving.”  
“About that.” Harry tipped out the bag again. “Afraid it's dodgy sarnies after all.”  
“What happened?” Ron frowned.  
“Well... I was on my way to the cafe and I saw this lady... she had a little boy with her and... she just looked so miserable.”  
  
Ron looked at him curiously and continued to burp Lily.  
  
“I know that look. I've worn that look. It comes from being so unhappy that you're dying inside.”  
  
Ron stiffened slightly.  
  
“What?” Harry asked. “Anyway. I just thought... she looked so sad. And we're not sad. So I figured I'd buy them some ice cream and some drinks... to be nice. But when I got there they didn't take the Muggle card payment and I just had enough change for that... so...”  
“... So you used all your money to buy a total stranger some treats, leaving us with your god awful picnic?” Ron finished for him.  
  
Harry nodded and screwed up his face. “Are you mad?”  
“Mad? Harry, I might eat you because I'm so hungry but I'm not mad. You did a lovely thing... and it's shit like that, mate... that's the reason I love you. That massive, incorrigible heart.”  
  
Harry grinned down at the blanket, feeling the heat of pleasure in his cheeks. “Hey... Ron?”  
“Mm?”  
“Where the _fuck_ did you learn the word incorrigible?!”  
  
With a growl of mock outrage, Ron lobbed Lily's empty milk bottle at his head. Harry laughed and snatched it out of mid-air with his albeit rusty seeker reflexes.  
  
“If only it was socially acceptable to throw a baby.” Ron glowered playfully at Harry.  
“So...” Harry lifted up two squashed lumps. “Ham and cheese or... ham and cheese?”  
  
There was another roll of Ron's eyes. Harry threw the sandwich at his head. It bounced off his forehead and landed on Lily, who started to cry.  
  
“Oh, Godric, now look what you've done!” Ron huffed, and started to rock Lily in his arms. “Shhhh. Shhhhh. Daddy's just a total twat.”  
  
Harry threatened to throw the other sandwich but Ron just laughed. Lily quietened after a while and Ron kissed her hair.  
  
“Let's just have a little lie down, shall we?” he asked her, and held on tightly as he laid down on his back.  
  
Harry looked up at the canopy of leaves above them. The park was filling up around them but the noise was bearable. He looked at Lily frogged on Ron's chest. He had an urge to be close to them. He scooted over the blanket and positioned himself by Ron's head.  
  
“Here,” he said, indicating that Ron should put his head on Harry's legs.  
“We're in public, Harry.”  
“I don't care.”  
“I do.”  
  
Harry brushed Ron's fringe from his brow. “Come on, Ron. We aren't the scariest thing in this park by a long shot. This city has seen plenty of gay men.”  
“What if someone kicks off?”  
“We'll leave,” Harry promised.  
  
Ron looked at him worriedly for a moment before giving in and putting his head in Harry's lap.  
  
“What next? Wanking in public?” Ron teased, closing his eyes.  
“Dunno 'bout you but I had that ticked off the list when I was fourteen.”  
“Fifteen,” Ron admitted.  
“What were you wanking over?”  
“Can't even remember. I wanked over anything. You?”  
“I found some of Uncle Vernon's porn.”  
“That ugly git? Ew.”  
“I know, disturbing, right?”  
“What kind of porn was it?” asked Ron.  
  
Harry sank his fingers into Ron's red hair and started to massage his scalp.  
  
“Well she was dressed in this black latex stuff... and she had cleavage you could have parked a bike in. The summers were long and boring so... I found a space behind a quiet bush and knocked one out thinking about her. It was nice.”  
“Nice?!” Ron snorted derisively.  
“Yeah, nice. Not violent. Not boring. Nice.” He shrugged.  
  
Ron shook his head and brought his hand up to stroke Lily's back.  
  
Harry caught the eye of someone walking past; the man's eyes flicked down to Ron and then the baby. Something that looked like disgust twisted his mouth. Harry held his breath but the man kept walking without comment.  
  
If they were on the receiving end of a homophobic slur that afternoon he knew he'd never get Ron out of the front door again.  
  
Not that those slurs didn't find them at home, too. There had been plenty in the letters which called them evil for keeping their Muggle child in the Magical world. There were only so many times he could read the word 'faggot' without his heart sinking.  
  
“Did that woman think you were hitting on her?” Ron asked suddenly.  
“What woman?” Harry asked, bewildered.  
“The one you bought the treats for. Didn't she think you were after something?”  
“Oh, well, 'what do you want?' was her first question. I shrugged and told her I was gay.”  
“You say that so confidently.”  
“Well... I am. I don't think I'd go for another woman ever again. I like men. More specifically, you.”  
  
Ron's brow creased slightly and Harry waited for him to say what was on his mind.  
  
“I still can't say it. Exclusively. Does that make me a bad person?” he asked quietly.  
“No. It was always harder for you. You were always on the cusp between the two of us, loving us both equally... And that's fine. I just need to know you love me, and that you'll tell me if anything changes. If you're scared or... anything.” Harry chewed on his bottom lip.  
  
“I do love you,” Ron said. “And I'm not scared about... about being gay. I'm scared of-”  
  
Whatever Ron was scared of, Harry didn't have the opportunity to find out as both of them jumped out of their skins. His work galleon was buzzing like mad and the could just about make out the outline of a Patronus message which had nudged Ron's leg. Lily sucked in a massive breath and then let it back out as a banshee scream.  
  
Fishing the galleon out of his pocket, Harry squinted against the sun to see the words which had changed in the gold.  
  
 _'All Aurors report. Magical containment issue. Emergency.”_ The text on the coin morphed to display the address. Harry frowned at it. He knew that road.  
  
 _'Ron, come to the hospital. It's George. I need your help.'_ Angelina's Patronus spoke only once before disappearing into thin air.  
  
“Oh, fucky fuck,” Ron muttered, struggling to a sitting position. “That doesn't sound good.”  
“D'you think the two are related?” Harry frowned. “It's George's address on the galleon, Ron.”  
  
Ron looked troubled as he stood up and moved to put Lily back in her pram. He kissed forehead gently, a moment of tenderness Harry was sure anyone else would have missed. Not him, though. He enjoyed the warm, fuzzy feeling it gave him.  
  
“How are we going to do this?” he asked, ripping the blanket off the grass. “I have to report for work. You have to go to the hospital. What about Lily? And the pram?”  
  
Ron opened his mouth, presumably to respond that they'd be fine, but the words never quite made it out.  
  
Probably because, Harry knew, his magic was dwindling so much that the redhead probably thought that he wouldn't be able to get the pair of them safely there.  
  
“Can you Apparate us to the hospital?” Ron suggested. “And then go on from there? We just need to find somewhere private.”  
  
Bundling the blanket and uneaten food on the shelf under the pram, Harry nodded. “Can do. Are you going to be okay, Ron?”  
“Hard to answer that when you don't know what's waiting for you.”  
  
***  
By the time that Harry made it to the hospital, it was pushing for ten at night. There'd been a lot of work to do in fixing the house and supervising the obliviation of the local Muggles.  
  
There hadn't been much left of the back of George and Angelina's house. Amongst the rubble he'd seen splashes of the evenings they'd sometimes shared. A teddy bear of Fred's with its head half hanging off.  
  
He was dusty and shattered and he wanted his boyfriend and his daughter more than anything in the world. Harry pushed through the double doors to emergency care and prepared to sweet-talk the MediWitches, but he saw there was no need.  
  
There was a gaggle of redheads at the opposite end of the ward and a considerable amount of noise. Harry simply followed it and found himself standing next to Bill. George was tucked up in bed with a large bandage wound around his head. Angelina looked ashen at his bedside. Ron was stood on the other side chewing his thumbnail.  
  
Arthur, Molly, Bill and Percy stood at the foot of the bed.  
  
“How is he?” Harry asked at large. “Is he going to be okay?”  
“Oh, he's fine.” Bill patted Harry on the shoulder. “Just a sizeable concussion and... Godric knows what sort of psychological trauma.”  
  
“Harry!” Ron had only just noticed his arrival and, much to Harry's pleasure, elbowed everyone out of the way to reach him before throwing his arms around Harry and pulling him lose. “Thank Merlin you're here. I missed you.”  
  
Ron kissed him gently on the lips, his expression tight and his eyes tired.  
  
“Where's Lil?” Harry whispered.  
“Fleur and Audrey have all the kids at Shell Cottage,” said Ron. “I thought it was better for her there than being here all night.”  
“You miss her?”  
“Like I've lost an arm,” Ron confirmed. “But... well.”  
  
He stepped back and wrapped his fingers around the end of the metal bedstead. George's head lolled to one side. Angelina stroked his hair.  
  
“So what happened?” Harry asked at large.  
“You look like you could do with a hot drink, Harry,” Arthur said. “Everyone... how about we give Angelina some peace with George and head upstairs to the canteen?”  
  
There was muttered agreement and Harry slipped his fingers into Ron's. He was beyond worrying about who saw them or if Ron was worried about the same. It had been a hard day and he wanted to hold his boyfriend's hand, so he would. He'd've cuddled his baby if she'd been there.  
  
They followed Arthur up to the canteen and chose to pile around a table whilst the man himself ordered in a mixture of hot drinks. Harry plucked a cup of hot chocolate from the tray he placed in the middle of the table.  
  
“Thanks, Arthur. This is so needed,” he said, wrapping his fingers around it. “So... someone tell me what happened. I saw the aftermath, but what actually caused it?”  
“He was apparently experimenting in the back room he'd taken over as a sort of lab.” Ron rubbed his nose slightly. “And it went wrong. The explosion took out the back of the house.”  
“When Angelina found him, he was rocking in the corner covered in dust, blood everywhere, muttering over and over about Fred.”  
“The baby?” Harry frowned.  
“No, twin Fred.” Percy looked down at his lap. “I think... I think it might have been too close to what happened when Fred died for him and he... he snapped.”  
  
Shock coursed through Harry's body trying to imagine what that would feel like. He'd been there when Fred had died, felt the explosion of the walls thrum through his body like he was made of nothing but butter. Ron squeezed his hand under the table. Harry had forgotten they were even still holding hands. He squeezed back.  
  
“Nobody's got more than three words out of him since,” Bill put in. “Nothing that makes sense, anyway.”  
“Do they think he's gone mad?” Harry asked, aghast.  
  
Uneasy glances passed between the family and Harry swallowed hard. “Fuck.”  
  
“That about sums it up,” Ron agreed. “Cheers.” He toasted the sad little group with his cup of rapidly cooling tea and drank a mouthful. “Ugh. I'd forgotten how fucking awful that tastes.” he shuddered. “Sorry, Anita,” he called to the affronted looking witch on the till. “You know I love you dearly. But your tea is terrible.”  
  
He winked at her and, as Harry had seen so many times before, the witch old enough to be Ron's mother blushed pink and giggled into her hand.  
  
“Flirt,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth.  
“Well we don't want her to spit in it – it tastes bad enough as it is,” Ron whispered back. “You look tired.”  
“I _am_ tired. Shattered. Could sleep for a week I think.”  
“And we were having such a nice day...” Ron made a face and forced down some more tea.  
“Well, we've plenty more to have.” Harry shrugged. “This was more important.”  
  
Ron stiffened once again and suddenly looked a shade paler than he had beforehand. Harry regarded him for a moment before turning back to his hot chocolate.  
  
“Poor Angelina,” he said after a while. “As if she doesn't have enough to cope with.”  
  
That earned him a smack in the thigh from Ron. Harry remembered too late that Angelina's diagnosis with post-natal depression was technically a secret.  
  
“I mean, with Fred being so tiny, is all.” He hoped his save would work and was glad when Bill steered the subject away from him.  
  
Harry thought it best he keep his mouth shut and so busied himself with reaching the bottom of his polystyrene cup. Ron squeezed his knee supportively.  
  
***  
  
“Please, Lily. Please just... stop,” Harry begged, even though he knew it was futile and unfair of him to beg a newborn to stop crying.  
  
She wanted Ron. Only Ron would stop the level of tantrumming which had been going on since breakfast. But Ron was in bed unwell and Harry was having trouble rousing him. George ending up in hospital had seemingly taken its toll on his brother.  
  
“Please,” Harry whispered, shoving up his glasses to press the heels of his palms into his eyeballs.  
  
His head hurt. Lily was a champion screamer, and that seemed like the only thing she'd done since breakfast that morning. Harry hated admitting that she'd pushed him to his wit's end so quickly, but she had. He hoped that was just through the tiredness and being so worried about Ron.  
  
He assumed that by taking to bed his assumptions about Ron had been right – the redhead was not feeling as well as he professed and things were actually quite rough. He'd not thought they were bad enough to demand complete bed rest, but Ron obviously needed the sleep because his body refused to wake up.  
  
“Fine. Come on.” Harry hefted his baby up and carried her from the front parlour up the stairs, and from there he carried her into their bedroom.  
  
If Ron had any complaint about the noise he didn't show it, but that only worried Harry further. Even if he didn't get up, Ron always acknowledged Lily's cries. But she was squalling as he slipped into the room and approached the bed, and Ron didn't stir even a tiny bit.  
  
In desperation Harry perched on the edge of the bed and laid Lily beside the sleeping redhead. Her volume level immediately dropped and after only a few seconds, she fell completely silent.  
  
“Little bitch,” Harry muttered furiously under his breath. “I'm not good enough now? He might have carried you for eight months but I'm the one who's changed the majority of your shitty nappies since.”  
  
He glared at her, but she just blew a spit bubble and offered nothing further. He knew he was being unfair.  
  
“I take it back,” he whispered penitently. “I love you.”  
  
Her answer to that was to let out a massive, squelchy-sounding fart. When it rose up Harry gagged and his eyes watered.  
  
“You're evil,” he choked, heading for the window to open it a little.  
  
Ron remained fast asleep next to the disgusting child that had inherited his talent for disturbing flatulence. If that smell couldn't wake him, Harry realised, nothing would. Despite the smell, however, there was finally the first bit of peace Harry had received all day. He summoned the papers he needed to read for work from his office and retreated to the little couch they kept under the window. If Lily wanted to nap next to Ron he wasn't about to argue with her. It was nearly nap time anyway and she seemed happy amusing herself. Harry sent up a few little birds just in case, but gratefully collapsed on the sofa.  
  
He reached out and pushed the window open wider with his fingertips and sniffed the summer air as it came in to meet him. He could smell the lavender he'd been trying to get rid of for years wafting up from the garden.  
  
Harry gently eased his shoes off and put his feet up in front of him, before taking a deep breath and opening the file on his lap. Kingsley had been excellent with regards to his working schedule, and had agreed a few days off following George's incident for everyone's wellbeing. Harry still felt like he should attempt some work, however, which led to the file on his lap.  
  
George was still in the hospital but had managed to get out some non-garbled speech and was eating and drinking well. Angelina looked like she was on the edge of a breakdown herself. Harry had no idea what to do to help her, even though he'd supported Ron through so much during his pregnancy.  
  
Ignoring the file he couldn't help but look over at the two people he loved lying together on the bed. Lily's eyes had already closed.  
  
 _She loves him more than she loves me._ Harry wished that didn't make him feel insanely jealous. He was trying hard to fight it. But the reality was when she was upset, it was Ron that made it better. When she was poorly, it was Ron that quietened her down.  
  
Ron was amazing with their child. He was a lovely mix of gentle but realistic, taking her bad days in his stride and was wonderfully patient with her. He made an excellent father, as Harry had always known he would. Harry couldn't help but swell with pride as he looked at the pair of them: they were his.  
  
The chiming of a distant clock made him jump slightly and Harry shook his head at his fear. “Idiot,” he muttered under his breath.  
  
He looked at the file in his hands again and immediately felt bored. He was just bored of work in general; it felt like every second he spent there, saving the Wizarding world from themselves, could have been better spent at home with his beautiful little family. They could have been working on the house. They could have been on holiday. They could have been sitting in silence sharing a room as they currently were.  
  
Harry had never before had the sense of longing to simply do nothing with his career. At the end of the war he'd wanted work to keep busy, and it had seemed idiotic to refuse Kingsley's offer of a spot in the Auror team. Ron's matching invitation had also gone a long way to convincing Harry to accept his own. Even then, before they had ever kissed, Harry had found the thought of being parted from Ron too much to handle.  
  
He'd stuck at the job even though he didn't need the money to keep his mind distracted. If he lingered too long on leave he found that his mood turned maudlin and everything he had lost rose up to greet him.  
  
That wasn't the case any more. Those daemons were still there – they always would be – but there was something in his life with Ron which gave him the ability to exercise them sporadically and then put them back in their box. They no longer threatened to consume him when he had too much time on his hands.  
  
He was so grateful for that.  
  
Ron muttered something in his sleep and Harry looked over so fast that he cricked his neck. Ron's eyelids were fluttering, giving flashes of blue irises. He seemed to be trembling. Harry got to his feet and hurried to the bed, reaching out to touch the redhead's shoulder. Immediately Ron relaxed and returned to stillness. Harry watched him though narrowed eyes.  
  
Something wasn't right. He could feel it in his water.  
  
Harry quickly made a decision. He used his wand to transfigure an old slipper into a pop-up cot for Lily, which he levitated her in to. When she was settled he left the bedroom and headed back down through the house, trying to get clear in his head what he was going to tell the healer. Ron would probably be furious when he woke up but Harry thought it was better to be safe than sorry. The Healer making a home visit unnecessarily was better than Ron being hospitalised again – something Harry wasn't sure that their relationship would withstand again.  
  
He scooped up some Floo Powder in his fingers, ready to cast it into the fireplace on the direct channel the Maternity Ward had given them on Ron's discharge. Then he noticed that there was a letter waiting in the wire tray they kept for post, addressed to Ron. Harry could see the hospital stamp next to the postage mark. He dropped the powder back in the pot and brushed off his fingers.  
  
When he picked up the letter the back of it was loose – the seal had failed. Unable to help himself, Harry flipped it over and pulled the letter out, shaking his head at the old fashioned typewriter font.  
  
He read:  
  
 _Dear Mr Weasley,  
  
I am writing to you to confirm receipt of referral letter from your Maternity Consultant Healer. It is with great sadness that I do this - I am familiar with your story but have had the opportunity read your case notes and examine your test results. It is with deepest regret that I agree with the conclusions reached by my colleagues that your body is in rapid decline and this will cause a substantial deduction of years that you have left to you.  
  
Therefore I would like to invite yourself and Mr Potter to my office to discuss how best we can manage this premature and unexpected stage of your life. We would like to offer our support in any way we can at this difficult time.  
  
Please find below details of the appointment and feel free to contact my secretary (details also below) if these are not convenient.  
  
With warmest regards,  
  
Hlr Mervyn Pointer  
Palliative Care Lead,  
The Meadows,  
St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries._  
  
Harry stared at the parchment, unable to breathe. He knew what Palliative Care meant and he knew that The Meadows comprised of the wards of the topmost floor of the hospital – where witches and wizards went to die when there was nothing else to be done and remaining at home wasn't an option.  
  
His brain was fighting him, throwing up protestations of old age and infirmity. Ron was neither elderly or an invalid.  
  
His chest started to ache, his eyes filled up and he felt sick to the very pit of his stomach. It was matched with a stunning anger which made his hand, and the letter within it, shake.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All things must end. Life's just cruel enough to make it too early in some cases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, finally finished. It's been a long while. Despite my hatred of mPreg I have loved this fic.
> 
> Warnings: Angst, language, Mpreg, divorce, mentions of postnatal depression, themes of death.

Ron had only been completely separated from his magical ability twice in his life that he could remember. The first was following his parley with the brains in the Department of Mysteries. The second was just before he'd given birth to Lily, when the pre-eclampsia had taken every ounce of his energy for its own.  
  
All the other times he'd managed short bursts, or at the very least could – as he now knew when he could not – feel it flowing through his veins. He felt completely Muggle. It was a very odd sensation to know that he could walk outside and get hit by a bus and there would be no magical safety net to save him.  
  
He supposed that's what the inventor of the potion he'd ingested had wanted – him devoid of magic and safety. Godric only knew that they'd succeeded.  
  
Ron let out a tired sigh and looked around the empty kitchen of Grimmauld Place.  
  
Like his magic, Harry too was gone. Ron had woken up to the wizard's yells, all directed at him. Lily had been screaming at the top of her lungs and Harry had been beside himself. He'd found a letter from the Palliative team at the hospital. When Ron confirmed that he was, in effect, dying, he'd thought Harry might finally go apoplectic with rage.  
  
He'd stood there, bracing himself for a punch or a sobbing lover, but instead Harry had marched to Lily's room, ripped her from her cot and left the house.  
  
Ron hadn't seen him since. Ironically, he'd run straight to Hermione, who was ferrying the baby back and forth between them.  
  
It physically hurt Ron to be apart from them both. He desperately wanted Harry to come back but he knew he didn't have the words to banish the spectre of death that was hovering over him. And that was what Harry was running from: death, loneliness, misery.  
  
Ron gave a heavy sniff and drank some more coffee. He was waiting on Hermione to bring Lily round. He found himself desperate for a cuddle. Any contact, really. With anyone. He was so lonely and whenever he was alone he thought about everything he stood to lose.  
  
As his eyes filled up with tears, Ron didn't bother to fight them or brush them away. He let them tumble down his cheeks and watched one splash into his coffee. He deserved it, he felt, to sit there and cry unhampered. He deserved that pain for letting Harry down so spectacularly. For not making the most every single minute he'd had so far and was still to have.  
  
He felt pathetic. He licked his lips, which stung in their poor, cracked state, and gave an ungraceful snort of the snot which had built in his nose. He breathed hard through his mouth and just cried. They'd said at the hospital that he shouldn't try to suppress his grief. He was grieving for his own death, they said, and it had to come out if he wanted any chance at actually enjoying the time he had left.  
  
Green Floo flames suddenly reared up in the grate and Hermione appeared there, carrying Lily in her arms. Ron threw himself out of his feet and rushed towards them, scooping them both up in his arms and holding on tight.  
  
“Hey,” Hermione whispered, wrapping her hand around the back of his skull and holding him. “Sorry I'm late.”  
“No, no, it's fine,” Ron dismissed, stepping back and finally wiping his face on his sleeve.  
“You look awful,” Hermione said, clearly shocked at his appearance.  
“I don't know how else I'm supposed to look?” Ron shook his head. “My life has fallen apart, Hermione.”  
  
He took Lily when Hermione handed her over. He kissed her beautiful downy hair and inhaled her scent. “Gods, I've missed you, little one!”  
“Can I have some coffee?” Hermione asked, dropping the baby bag down on the table. “I'm shattered.  
“Knock yourself out,” Ron said, switching Lily to his other hip and heading back to his seat. “How is he?”  
“A little better,” Hermione said, not needing to ask who Ron was talking about. “But... still destroyed.”  
“I know the feeling,” Ron said glumly, sitting Lily on the table in front of him and holding her tiny hands. “Has he said anything about coming back?”  
  
Hermione's silence spoke louder than any words could, and as she sat down opposite him she was shaking her head.  
  
“This is madness. You could die tomorrow and he wouldn't be here because he can't get over his anger.”  
“I lied to him, Hermione.”  
“You were trying to protect him!” she exclaimed.  
“Yeah, and if I was still your husband, would you have listened to that bullshit?”  
“Well... I'd still be angry but I wouldn't be wasting precious time! You need to spend this together. As a family. Before...”  
“Before I snuff it and the family doesn't exist any more,” Ron finished for her.  
  
Hermione looked like she was about to cry and Ron didn't blame her. He could easily have started off again himself, but he didn't want Lily to see that. She was so young and if there was a slight chance of her remembering him, he wanted those memories to be happy ones.  
  
“I think you're going to have to force the issue,” Hermione said finally. “Demand to see him. Break the ice. Otherwise you're just going to go round in circles.”  
“I know,” Ron promised. “Will you take something for me? I wrote him a letter. And I never write fucking letters so I'm hoping he'll understand how important it is.”  
“I'll give it to him, but I can't make him read it, Ron.”  
  
Ron concentrated on working some fluff out of Lily's cardigan – a hand-knitted one which was clearly the work of his mother.  
  
“Are you sure you'll be all right with her today? Now that your magic is gone?”  
“I'm sure I can handle looking after my daughter as a Muggle for an afternoon. And if not, I'll find someone who can help me. I can still use the Floo and such.”  
“Lily hates the Floo.”  
“Well I'm sure if it's the Floo or a shitty nappy all afternoon, she'll handle it.”  
  
Lily chose that moment to let out a giggle and Ron smiled at her. “There's my girl. Happy in the face of adversity.”  
  
Hermione laughed and drank some coffee.  
  
“How you feel in yourself?”  
“Strange. Like a Muggle must feel like only they don't know how ordinary it feels because they've never had magic. And I'm depressed as fuck,” Ron finished bluntly. “I've told the hospital. They said it was to be expected and upped my dosage.”  
“How can you be so... matter-of-fact about it?” Hermione asked quietly. “You're so young, Ron, and you have everything to live for... but you're accepting it without question.”  
“Before you walked in I was sitting right here crying my eyes out, Hermione. I'm not calm, for Merlin's sake. I'm a mess!”  
  
He sniffed hard and blinked a couple of times.  
  
“Maybe Harry needs to see your grief.”  
“Well he will when he reads the fucking letter. I got snot all over it.”  
  
Hermione sighed and sipped some more coffee.  
  
“I can't believe this is happening. That soon I might have to live in a world where Ronald Weasley doesn't exist. Isn't there to make me laugh. How will any of us ever cope with that?”  
“You'll cope,” Ron said, knowing that he sounded somewhat savage. “You'll cope because you have to. Life goes on. Harry will have Lily, and you'll have the pair of them to keep going for. You'll all adapt. Without me.”  
  
His voice broke on the last word and Ron had to close his eyes and take some very deep breaths. Hermione's hand started to rub the small of his back.  
  
“It's going to hurt more than anything else I could imagine,” Hermione said softly to him. “You're no longer my husband but I still love you beyond anyone else. It's not _fair_ , Ron. It's just not fair.”  
  
Ron had to hand her that. “No. It's not.”  
  
***  
  
It wasn't the day for it. Ron felt rougher than he had yet, and his head was banging. The world seemed to be moving around him in slow motion. He wasn't going to give up his chance to spend time with Harry, though. His letter – his heartfelt, broken letter – had done the trick in getting Harry to meet with him.  
  
They were sitting in a dark corner of a pub set back from the main promenades of Diagon Alley at Harry's request. Ron wondered if he just wanted somewhere without too many memories attached to discuss things. Hermione had Lily at hers. Grimmauld was where they'd shared so much. The pub was neutral territory, and nobody cared that Harry had put up a barrier of spells so that they'd have complete privacy.  
  
“I miss you so much,” Ron said softly. “Please come home, Harry.”  
“I miss you too,” was all he said in reply, but when Ron reached out to put his fingers over Harry's hand, he didn't pull it away.  
  
In fact, he laced their fingers together. Ron felt a surge of heat and emotion as their skin connected.  
  
“I read your letter,” Harry continued. “I didn't know you could write like that.”  
“You cheeky sod,” Ron retorted before he could stop himself and Harry actually laughed.  
“I don't mean at all... I mean... _like that._ With so much... emotion.”  
“It just came out,” Ron mumbled, looking down at the table.  
“I've missed your face,” Harry whispered. “I've missed your hands. And your chest. And your belly and every single part of you. I've never felt loss like this before.”  
“I'm not gone, Harry. Not yet.”  
“But you will be. And you didn't tell me.”  
  
Harry gave a massive sniff then and pretended to look at the painting on the wall of their booth.  
  
“I was just trying in my stupid, arse-uppards way to protect you until I had a definitive answer.”  
“But what if that 'definitive answer' had come too quickly? If you'd died and I had to learn about this after you were gone?”  
  
Ron could only shrug at that. “They weren't advising immediate death. They were advising a slow, protracted decline. If they'd told me I was going to cark it tomorrow, I would have told you. But they weren't sure... they said they might be able to provide treatments to give me more time... I wanted to explore that before I had to frighten you.”  
“Yeah, well, all the same, you fucked up,” Harry said tightly.  
“I fucked up,” Ron echoed quietly. “And I'm sorry.”  
“I know you're sorry, but it doesn't change the fact that in one, two, three years, you'll be dead.”  
  
“I don't know what you want me to do with that, Harry. It's the truth. I didn't ask for it – any of it. I didn't ask to get pregnant with Lily. I didn't ask to lose my magic. I didn't ask to have everything ripped away from me when I should be in my prime. It's not like I chose any of this. And I get that you're hurt, and you feel betrayed but... fucking hell, Harry. I'm dying. And this isn't making anything any more bearable.”  
  
He was shivering by the time he closed his mouth and he felt dangerously close to tears. Crying in his home was one thing, but he refused to do it in public.  
  
“I know,” Harry mumbled. “I know.”  
  
Ron forced himself to draw a few deep breaths and brushed his hair away from his eyes.  
  
“So what are we going to do? We can't keep on like this. It's not good for either of us, and it's not good for Lily. She needs stability. And Hermione has a career and being up all hours with a baby that isn't even her own isn't fair.”  
“I should come home,” Harry said, but without any conviction and certainly no desire.  
  
Ron thought about all the things that he could say then. In the end he settled on, “Only when you're ready, I guess. Come back when you feel you can.”  
  
Harry nodded and looked down at the table.  
  
“There was an idea I had... about the future... but it's... It's pretty stupid, because-”  
“Tell me,” Harry cut him off.  
“What if we moved out of Grimmauld... and into a Muggle home, in a Muggle area. I'm a Muggle now, whether we like it or not. And Lily... Lily is always going to be a Muggle. She could grow up amongst people like her, follow the school system... do normal Muggle things. And I now have to embrace that life too. I can be the dad that drops her off at school and picks her up, I can get involved in a way I couldn't when I would have needed to hide my magic. There's nothing to hide any more. It would be a fresh start for us both.”  
  
Harry's brow was furrowed. “But what about me? I have magic. Do you want me to give it up and live as a Muggle too?”  
“Fuck no,” Ron swore. “You would just be your normal self. Plenty of households exist like this, with one magical and one Muggle parent. We could do it, Harry. Start again.”  
“And what about when the questions come – why does she look so much like the pair of us? Why are her mannerisms the same? Staying here would be hard for you both but at least we're in a society that mainly accepts our relationship, and who know what happened to you.”  
  
Ron nodded. “I told you it was a stupid plan. But it's just something I keep coming back to.”  
“And what's more, what about when you die? Then what? I'm stuck with Lily in a society that doesn't understand me, and I'll be alone and isolated from everyone. Our family.”  
“Like my family will ever give you a moment's peace.”  
“Well... yeah. But still, Ron.”  
  
Ron shrugged. “Again, I told you it was stupid.”  
  
Harry nodded and sniffed again.  
  
“I can't come home yet,” he said. “I'm sorry. I'm not ready.”  
“I get it,” Ron promised.  
“But...” Harry bit his lip.  
“But what?”  
  
“I need you.” Harry said simply.  
  
Ron watched as his partner waved his wand to dispel the magic protecting their conversation. His lithe body slipped out from the booth and looked expectantly at Ron, nodding his head towards the toilets. Grabbing his bag, Ron followed at a distance, trying to look collected. Nobody paid them any attention as they passed.  
  
He shouldered through the door that Harry had already gone through. A hand suddenly gripped his arm painfully and yanked him into a cubicle. He grunted as his back slammed into the closed door and heard Harry whispering a cacophony of spells around them. Then, without further explanation, Harry claimed his mouth and sank his fingers into his hair.  
  
Ron could only respond in kind. The loss of physical intimacy had been one of the hardest things to bear in their separation. The depression had killed his enjoyment in masturbation and wet dreams were apparently a thing of the past. He put his arms around Harry and dragged him up off the ground and closer to him. Harry moaned in response and shoved his tongue into Ron's mouth.  
  
He felt Harry's legs wrap around his waist. Ron wasn't sure he had the strength for it, but he pushed away from the door and reversed their positions, pressing Harry's back into the wood and grinding forward with all his strength so that they both felt friction in the right place. They kissed again, heavily moaning and breathing all over one another as Harry started to rock his hips back and forth.  
  
Ron felt dizzy and everything hurt, but there was still pleasure in having Harry rutting against him. He felt like he might even manage to come if they could keep at it. But Harry clearly wasn't in it for a marathon session. He was red in the face and his pupils are blown, and the noises he was making signalled the end before Ron even had a chance to think more about his own satisfaction.  
  
He realised, as Harry's jaw fell open and his head tipped back, that it had never been about him.  
  
Harry had needed and so he had taken. Ron decided he didn't care. He had Harry close to him and that was all that mattered.  
  
“Oh fuck,” Harry whimpered, as his chest heaved. “Shit. Ron.”  
  
His head came forward and Ron pressed their foreheads together. Harry started to come down from the high and closed his eyes.  
  
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't've-”  
“Shh,” Ron whispered. He kissed the tip of Harry's nose. “It's okay, Harry.”  
  
They stood in silence whilst Harry's breathing returned to normal. Eventually he loosened the grip of his thighs and Ron helped him ease his legs back down to the floor.  
  
“You didn't...” Harry looked up wearing a guilty expression.  
“No,” Ron shook his head. “But it's fine.”  
“It's not fine,” Harry said, sounding decidedly upset. “Let me-” He put his hands to Ron's waist and fumbled for the button of his jeans. “You have to...”  
  
“No, Harry,” Ron said, grabbing his hands and forcing them to his sides. “It's fine. I'm... finding it tough to get hard anyway.”  
“But you're hard now.”  
“Because you just wriggled against me in that way that always drives me mad.” Ron smiled. “But my depression is making it hard to get anywhere with it. It's fine. It'll pass.”  
  
Harry suddenly looked very young and very vulnerable. “Depression? You... you're not... you haven't tried to... again, have you?” His words refused to come, which Ron realised was probably because he was too scared of reliving the moment that Ron had tried to kill himself early on in the pregnancy.  
  
“No, I haven't.” Ron tried to force some strength into his voice. “And I won't. This is different. I've got no will to speed up something that's coming anyway. I promise you, Harry.”  
  
After a moment's hesitation, Harry nodded and gave a deep swallow.  
  
“I feel like an idiot,” he admitted. “A selfish, childish idiot. And you... you just give me whatever I want, and here I am, acting the prat and unable to get past something so tiny...”  
  
Harry shook his head. “Why do you even want me back?”  
“I'm not going to even bother answering that, you fucking idiot,” Ron said. He stepped back. “I love you. And I'm sorry I've hurt you.”  
“And I just dragged us in here, humped you and now what?” Harry let out a desperate-sounding laugh. “We're going to go back to separate homes and we've sorted nothing out.”  
  
Ron shrugged. “You can only come back when you're ready, and if you're not ready... then...”  
  
He reached past Harry to unlock the cubicle door.  
  
“I'll be there when you're ready.”  
  
***  
  
“Just a few more signatures, Mr Weasley, and then we'll be finished.”  
  
Ron nodded and sipped at his now-lukewarm cup of tea. It felt like he'd been inside the solicitor's forever. Making a will was something that the hospital had advised upon just in case things went south quickly. Ron thought it might be the most macabre thing he'd ever done.  
  
“I know this is tiring,” the wizard said with a rueful smile. “Nobody enjoys this even when death is a far off event on the horizon. For those with it rather nearer, the situation is downright dreadful.”  
  
“You don't say,” Ron said, scribbling his signature on another sheet of parchment.  
  
“I must say this is a first for us... making a will for someone who has lost their magic entirely. We've researched thoroughly, though, and we can charm the will so it has the precise strength of what it would have had with your own magic.”  
“Do squibs normally go to Muggles then?”  
“Mostly. But it's different... they've never had magic to lose. A complicated situation.”  
  
Ron hummed his agreement and signed the last page indicated. He put the quill down and flexed his fingers.  
  
Mostly the will just left everything to Harry, and in the event of Harry's death to Lily. If Harry died before Lily became of age then the care of her transferred to the larger Weasley family. He and Harry had agreed on that shortly after birth.  
  
There were a few things he'd left to others. The watch his parents had given him on his seventeenth birthday was to go back to them. The chess set which had been his Granddad's was to go to Charlie, simply because they'd spent so much time together over it, and it had been the three of them that had harboured Ron's love of the game. He planned on asking Charlie to make sure he taught Lily how to play on it, too, even if she didn't understand how the pieces could bash the hell out of one another.  
  
“You know... this would all have been somewhat easier if you and Mr Potter were married, Mr Weasley.”  
“You've said,” Ron pointed out, trying to rub an ink stain off his middle finger.  
“I know. But it is the truth.”  
“Just because something's true it doesn't make it any more bearable.” Ron shrugged. “I can't officially make him a widower. I can't. It makes me feel sick.”  
“But perhaps a wedding would be just the ticket to lift everyone's spirits with everything so bleak?”  
  
Ron had to admit he'd considered that. His mother would love it, a wedding to plan to take her mind off the horrific truth – that she would have to bury another son.  
  
“It's not something we're planning on,” he said finally. “Are we done here?”  
“Yes. We'll perform the spells and seal it in the vault in the usual way. We'll send a confirmation letter with vault number and so on in due course. Be sure to stow it somewhere accessible.”  
  
Ron got to his feet and held out his hand, which the other wizard shook. Ron couldn't bear the look of pity on the man's face.  
  
He left as quickly as possible, hurrying out into the sunshine and stopping to take a deep gulp of fresh air.  
  
It had been a week since Harry had dry humped him in the pub toilet. Ever since his mood had taken a definite dive. He was quite a bitter person, but even he'd been shocked by the places his mind had gone in the last seven days. Harry still wasn't home.  
  
Ron made himself start walking towards The Leaky Cauldron, where he would have to wait and rely on someone recognising his fame to open the wall for him so he could pass into Muggle London. He'd had to take the Floo from home to the back room of George's shop, and would have to take the Tube to his next stop – to see the man himself in St Mungo's.  
  
His access to the Auror Floo channels no longer worked.  
  
He could feel the darkness bubbling away inside, threatening to erupt and consume him. He just kept focussing on how unfair the whole thing was – how his life had been completely corrupted and he'd been unable to do a single thing to stop it.  
  
 _If you'd killed yourself when you had the chance, you wouldn't be here now..._ his mind reminded him snidely.  
  
Ron chewed hard on the inside of his cheek as he reached the back wall to The Leaky Cauldron. Luckily as it happened, the wall opened to reveal a witch and her young family, and he stood back to let them pass before quickly ducking through the opening before it closed again. The pub was cool and murky compared to the sunshine outside – it suited his mood much better.  
  
“Fuck it,” he muttered to himself, and plonked himself down on a bar stool.  
  
A quick drink wouldn't hurt. He ordered a double measure of Firewhiskey picked up a beer mat to shred in his fingers.  
  
It had struck him in the middle of one sleepless night in the week that he had spent the last ten years of his life always torn between something. At first it had been Harry and Hermione – torn by his crippling love for both of them. Then he had been forced into the limbo of being between freedom and parenthood, a reality he'd struggled to cope with and felt pressured into. And now he was between life and death – more so than anyone ordinarily was.  
  
“Everything all right?” The barman asked, putting his drink down in front of him.  
“Being between things is _shit_ ,” Ron declared viciously, then tossed the Firewhiskey down his throat in one go.  
  
He left enough money on the bar and got back up again, shifting his messenger bag over his shoulder and then continued out into Muggle London.  
  
The noise and the heat became background noise as he steamed towards the nearest Underground station. He recognised that he was mostly fuelled by hate and booze, but kept going anyway. He guessed he must have a look like thunder on his face as people were just getting out of his way, which was a blessing.  
  
-  
  
By the time he reached the hospital, Ron was a sticky, sweaty mess and he was gasping for a drink. He had to keep to the visiting hours of the ward, however, and so he just ploughed on. When he paused outside the ward for the Healers to let him in, he dragged his hand across his forehead and it came away glistening. The Firewhiskey had really been a bad idea.  
  
“Afternoon, Ron, come in,” one of the regular Mediwitches greeted him and waved him in. “George has just had some good news, so he's nice and cheerful for you.”  
“Does that mean he's been terrorising you all ever since?” Ron made an apologetic face, but the witch just laughed and waved him on.  
  
Ron knocked on George's door and didn't wait for a summons.  
  
“Oh bloody hell, you look like shit,” was George's greeting.  
“Somehow I think I preferred it when you couldn't talk,” Ron said through gritted teeth. He slipped off his bag and threw himself down into a seat.  
  
The window was open and he was grateful of the fresh air to cool down in. George looked much better than the last time they'd seen one another.  
  
“They're granting me my freedom on Tuesday!” George explained happily. “Finally. Thank fuck.”  
“You feel ready to go home?” Ron asked shrewdly, narrowing his eyes.  
“I can't sit here forever. I've got a kid to raise and an empire to run. And a wife who deserves to have a functional husband again.”  
  
George nervously picked at his thumbnail. Ron watched him. They sat in silence for a moment.  
  
“Are you finally going to tell me what's going on with you?” George asked quietly. “I know there's something you're not telling me. That you're all keeping from me.”  
“I wanted to tell you,” Ron said. “I said it wouldn't help keeping it from you – Merlin knows that's got me in enough trouble over the past few weeks as it is.”  
“So?” George pressed.  
  
Ron wasn't sure. He didn't want to risk George reacting badly to the news and delaying his discharge. But there was something burgeoning in his chest – the need to talk to someone else. Someone who didn't know. Someone who would tell him without hesitance what they thought about the whole thing.  
  
George was that person.  
  
“Since the birth... I've been getting more and more unwell. They think it's part of the potion I ingested... my magic is gone. I'm basically a squib. And...” he hesitated, finding his throat thick. “I'm dying. It's slowly killing me. Everything is failing. The doctors think at most I have two years, without any treatment.”  
“And with treatment?”  
“We don't know if there are any. But there might be.”  
  
George simply stared at him with an unreadable expression.  
  
Ron took a deep breath. “And I tried to keep it from Harry 'til I knew where I stood. But he found out and went bonkers and... he's been staying with Hermione and Lily is going back and forth between us.”  
“I go off the planet for one month and the fucking world falls apart!” George cried exasperatedly. “Bloody hell, Ron. What are you even doing here?”  
“Seeing you.” Ron frowned.  
  
“Well fuck off – you need to go to Harry and do whatever it is you need to do to get him home with you. You're wasting time. Precious time.”  
“Well so are you,” Ron spat back. It just reared out of him before he could stop it. “You're missing all of those firsts with your baby here in this fucking place. Get out. Go home.”  
“I'm trying,” George pointed out. “You can't do much with catatonia until it decides to end. You're missing firsts too by allowing Harry to continue his little strop.”  
  
Ron sighed and scrubbed his fingers over his face. “I can't force him to come home.”  
“I can come and pick him up and dump him at home if you like,” George offered, wearing the ghost of a grin. “I'm bigger than he is. Skinny, speccy git that he is.”  
  
“I just...” Ron shook his head. “I keep getting stuck on how fucking unfair this is. Why me, George? Why me? It's not fair.”  
  
“Because life's not fair,” George answered softly.  
  
Nodding, Ron started to chew on his bottom lip.  
  
“Go to Harry, take them both home and you go from there, Ron. Stop wasting time. I'll stop it too. We've got to get our shit together otherwise... what will we have? Nothing.”  
“And you... you're not going to go off the deep again again now I've told you?”  
“Only if you don't put a stop to it. That's my loving, blackmailing threat-gift to you.”  
  
Ron inhaled hard and held the breath in his lungs.  
  
-  
  
“I'm so glad you're home,” Ron murmured into Harry's throat.  
“Me too,” Harry whispered.  
  
They were keeping quiet as Lily had been a nightmare to get off to sleep and even though she was in another room, they weren't going to take any chances. It was their first night back in the same bed.  
  
Harry sank his fingers into Ron's hair and stroked the back of his head. Roncould have purred at the touch.  
  
“We're going to be okay,” Harry said, not sounding in the least bit confident. “It's going to be okay.”  
“Remember what Hagrid said during the war? What's coming will come and we'll face it when it does.” Ron snaked his arms around Harry's middle.  
  
“Mmm-hmm.” Harry sounded fearful and tense, but Ron knew they'd crossed a major boundary now that the wizard was home again.  
  
“We're going to be okay,” Ron repeated.  
  


* * *

  
  
 **Two Years Later**  
  
“Oi!” Ron bellows as Lily hurtles at full speed towards the pond. “Come back here, you little turd!”  
  
Harry spares a worried glance around them. They both love their daughter dearly but she has become the most terrifying mix of both of his tenacity and Ron's obstinacy; she is truly fierce. He watches as Ron grabs her round the middle and chucks her up into the air. It causes her to squeal with delight. Ron marches back over the grass, grinning as he moves, before he plops down onto the grass near Harry's feet.  
  
“No pond for you,” he says, too breathless and too pale for Harry's liking.  
  
The clock ticks on. Ron drinks potions; lets the Healers put charms on his body. He lets them do anything they think might work. To their credit, he isn't dead yet and they don't think he'll die soon, either. The hospital researches, days go by. Harry wakes up each morning and wonders if it will be their last together.  
  
His heart still skips a beat when he thinks of life without Ron by his side. His chest grows tight and his eyes start to water, and he thinks he might die himself from the agony.  
  
“You okay?” Ron asks, and he squints as he looks up.  
“Yeah.” Harry smiles the smile of a liar and knows Ron sees right through it.  
  
He knows he will never be 'okay' with what's going to happen. But he can try to be okay with the life they live in the meantime.  
  
Ron leans his head against Harry's thigh and closes his eyes.  
  
Every time Ron closes his eyes, Harry wonders if they will ever open again.  
  
When they do, a surge runs through him, sparking life back to his mind when he sees the deep sapphire blue that he loves. Has always loved. Will always love.  
  
“Someone's due a nap,” he points out, prodding Lily in the shoulder.  
“No!” She protests, and immediately tries to wriggle out of Ron's hold.  
“We could all nap,” Ron suggests, his eyebrows raised and suggestive.  
  
Harry looks at him, at his red hair flaming red in the sun. He slips out of his chair onto his knees and settles down on his side. Ron follows suit and pulls over an umbrella they're using as a parasol. He makes sure they are covered and then lays down himself. Harry takes hold of his hand. They mangle their fingers together.  
  
They lay there, listening to the birds and the wind in the trees, together. Lily drops off almost immediately. Harry knows Ron won't sleep even though he suggested they all nap. He's too afraid of not waking up.  
  
The birds. The trees. A gentle plop of water caused by one of the fish in the pond. Lily's little breaths between them.  
  
Harry looks at Ron, and Ron looks at Harry.  
  
“This is perfect,” Ron says softly.  
  
Harry knows.  
  
 _-fin-_


End file.
